


Fangs and Hearts

by GreenasCole



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, BAMF Derek, BAMF Stiles, Demons, Derek Has Issues, Dreams and Nightmares, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Families of Choice, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hale Family Feels, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Pack Dynamics, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Puppy Piles, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 07:23:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 98,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenasCole/pseuds/GreenasCole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone in Beacon Hills knew the Hales.  They were rich, beautiful, and more or less ran the town despite being weirdly aloof.  Stiles never would have imagined that agreeing to pick up Scott after work one night would end with the both of them being drawn inexorably into the enigmatic family's secret supernatural world.  But when the tragedy Stiles has dreaded his entire life threatens to destroy him completely, it falls to the Hales to help him through it, in particular a reluctant Derek.</p><p>But Stiles' drive to protect what little he has left may yet lead him down a dark path he can't return from unless Scott and Derek find a way to convince him to remain the caring, selfless, spastic mess they can't live without.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Derek Hale Has Hex Appeal?

**Author's Note:**

> While I was embroiled in trying to pam out three 50k Sterek novels simultaneously the muse struck me with this instead, the capricious bitch. In any event, I love Hale family feels and am dying to write a story that doesn't revolve around sex and bloodshed. So here it is.
> 
> This an AU where the vents recapped in 3x08 "Visionary" went a little differently. Paige still died but Chris Argent arrived in time to stop his father and the Packs and the Hunters made a truce in the wake Gerard's betrayal. Further unhinged by her father's death, Kate's plan to seduce Derek and murder the Hales didn't go quite the same. Derek is an even bigger mess as far as relationships are concerned but his family is alive and well and never came close to getting burned alive. 
> 
> Enjoy.

It was frickin’ freezing out so Stiles stopped at Starbucks for a peppermint mocha on his way to pick up his best friend Scott after his shift at the veterinary clinic.  With the worst winter storm in decades rolling in just in time for the holiday season, the only people crazy enough to be out for a coffee fix at this hour were him, and Derek Hale.  The painfully gorgeous man was lingering in favorite booth despite the weather, and Stiles couldn’t help but spare a few seconds for an appreciative leer.  The Hales were hands down the most prominent local family, super rich and all unfairly attractive, particularly Derek and his sister Laura.  Together they had pretty much put a bullet through the head of heteronormativity in their sleepy little town just by living there.  Forget Masters and Johnson.  Back off, Alfred Kinsey.  In Beacon Hills they had the Hale Scale.  Simply have the alluring twins stand six feet apart and place the subject between them.  Whatever their final position was as they tried to pick which sibling was hotter became their number, the extreme 1’s and 6’s belonging to those who simply lost control of sexual urges all together and jumped one of them on the spot.  Stiles wasn’t ashamed to admit he was one of those who would just end up with whiplash trying to stare at both of them at once.

He played it cool as he walked to the counter to order, not wanting to be one of those poor pathetic souls caught “Hale Watching”.  Derek spent so much time in that same booth scowling down at his laptop Starbucks had awarded him free coffee for life as a special thanks for the hordes of non-fat latte swilling twittering teenage girls his presence attracted.

The man’s head suddenly snapped up in adorable dog-like motion as something outside caught his attention through the frosted window.

 _“Squirrel!”_ Stiles whispered, subtly mimicking the gesture.  Not subtly enough from the glare he got as Derek slammed his computer shut and sped out the door.  The guy must have ears like a fox or something.

“What can I get for you?” the barista asked.

“Two venti peppermint mochas,” he replied automatically.  Derek’s face had been scrunched up in a degree of consternation that could only come from recognition.  Stiles tried to quash the thrill he felt at just being _noticed_ by the beautiful older boy but it was losing battle.  In the lonely desolate wasteland that was his social life this was practically a Christmas miracle.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“Come _on_ , Scott.  I have to get home.”  And get away from the lingering scent of death and antiseptics.  It wasn’t _exactly_ like a hospital but the season made the unpleasant associations that much more painful for him.

“Deaton got called out to the Marks’ ranch outside of town.  I have to finish putting extra bedding in all the cages in case the storm knocks the power out before he can bring in the gas powered generator.”

How could he argue with someone with an unlimited supply of cold and lonely puppies on hand?  “Fine.  What’s so important that a vet has to make a house call with a blizzard on the way?”

“Someone broke into their barn and braided flowers into all the horses’ manes before setting them loose.  The poor things were terrified.  One fell in a ditch and broke its leg.”

“That’s just great.  My Dad’s already running on his last nerve, driving out there during a snowstorm to get their statements is going to give him a coronary.”

Beacon Hills had become the site of what had to be the most prolific and vicious Prank War in human history.  The weird thing was nobody seemed to know who was behind it.  Nonetheless, the town had suffered an escalating series of practical jokes that had long since left _funny_ behind and become downright dangerous.  It was funny when someone had somehow filled the indoor pool at the High School with small reef sharks.  The psychadelics in the punch bowl at the Historical Society Holiday Fundraiser had been inspired.  But after someone sabotaged the traffic lights during rush hour and caused a massive pile up the Sheriff’s department had declared war, but so far hadn’t found so much as a fingerprint.  His Dad was working round the clock and the strain was beginning to show.

“We can get out of here sooner if you’ll help me clean the litter boxes,” Scott said hopefully.

“I think I’ll just hang out in the waiting room.”

“Suit yourself.”

Stiles left Scott to it and went back out front.  He was halfway through the divider separating off the back area when the clinic’s door slammed open admitting two struggling figures holding a...thing between them.

“Help!” Laura Hale cried.  She and someone Stiles recognized as her uncle, Peter Hale, were trying desperately to restrain a snarling creature that looked like Lon Cheney’s bodybuilder cousin, all claws and teeth and glowing blue eyes.

He slammed the gate shut, desperately willing the flimsy barrier to keep the walking horror flick on the other side and away from him.

“Where’s Alan?” Peter demanded, his own eyes flashing yellow as the wolfman renewed his snarling efforts to get free.

“Holy shit is that _Derek_!?” he shrieked.  The werewolf in question was wearing the same clothes and looked…similar, minus the signature brooding eyebrows which seemed to have migrated down to the guy’s cheeks and taken root, growing into wildly overgrown sideburns.

“We don’t have time for this,” Laura growled, hauling her brother and uncle forward, only to be stopped a few inches from the gate like they’d slammed into an invisible wall.

Stiles poked the painted wood in disbelief, hoping the word “Gotcha!” might magically appear on it and prove this was all an elaborate gag.  “I don’t suppose I’m on _Scare Tactics_?” he squeaked in the stunned silence.

“Stiles!” Peter barked, because of course _he_ knew his name, “We need you to open the gate and get Alan.  Derek’s been cursed by the Fairy Queen and he’ll die if we can’t break it soon.”

“He…he won’t be back for _hours,_ ” he stammered.

Peter titled his head thoughtfully for a moment, considering him “Then you’ll have to do it.”

“Right, the curse of the Fairy Queen, of course.”  He must have had a death wish, either that or sudden reordering of his entire worldview combined with the double dose of Adderall he’d taken earlier had finally driven him crazy, because he opened the gate to let them through.

“Stiles what’s going on out…Jesus Christ!” Scott yelled as the three werewolves shouldered past him into the exam room, Stiles trailing behind.

“Get him up on the table,” Peter ordered Laura who lifter her twin with inhuman strength and plopped him down on the cold steel.

“I guess shoving a fireplace power down his throat isn’t an option?”  The Hales looked at him like they too suspected he’d cracked.  “Ha ha ha, just kidding.”  His voice was shrill and borderline hysterical, words spilling out in a rush. “It’s fairy magic, right?”

Scott fumbled in his pocket for his inhaler “Werewolves,” _wheeze_ , “Fairies,” _wheeze_ , “Magic.”  He took a couple puffs, looked at the scene in front of him, and took another for good measure.

“I mean isn’t iron supposed to destroy it, you know ‘cause it’s toxic to them.  Oh!  I know!  Scott does Deaton have iron supplements for sick dogs or whatever.”

“Uh, sure?  Med cabinet,” he said pointing to a glass case.

Peter walked over and drove a clawed hand through the glass, cuts healing before their eyes as he pulled out the bottle of pills “Let’s give this a shot.  Get me some water!” He opened the bottle and poured the pills onto the table between Derek’s feet while Laura held him down.  Peter scooped them up  handful at a time, crushing them into a cast of the inside of his hand and dumping the powder back in.  “Water.”  Stiles handed him a dish he’d filled at the tap.  The werewolf poured it in, put the cap back and shook vigorously, mixing it.

“This is never going to work,” Laura snarled through her fangs.  She had _fangs_.  And it didn’t make her any less smoking hot.  Stiles needed lots of therapy.  A stiff drink, or twenty, and then lots of therapy.

“It’s a shredding hex,” Peter snarled back, “It’s ripping his guts apart; the iron will disperse rapidly if we can make him swallow it.”  He walked around to stand opposite her.  “Sit him and hold his head back.”

Laura did so as he uncapped the iron solution and shoved the mouth of the bottle between Derek’s lips without ceremony.  The werewolf had enough presence of mind to swallow at least, chugging the whole thing in a couple huge gulps, and immediately went limp and lifeless.

“You!” Laura shrieked pointing a claw at Stiles as her faced transformed into a female version of her brother’s werewolf face.  At least she kept her eyebrows.  “ _You killed him_!”

“Meep!”

“Leave him alone!” Scott yelled bravely before flinching back against the wall when she whirled on him with a roar.

Peter, meanwhile, just rolled his eyes theatrically “Calm down, Laura, he just unconscious.  Please forgive my darling niece, she gets a little excitable around this time of the month.  He nodded at the Full Moon visible through the narrow window.

“Nah, it’s nothing,” Stiles dismissed with a wave.  Because _werewolves_.  Fuck.

“The iron bought us a couple of minutes,” Peter continued, “It’s weakened the spell enough for his body to fight it off but it didn’t break it.”

“Can’t you just give him more?” Scott asked.

“There isn’t any.  It wouldn’t matter anyway.  Right now he has iron poisoning but we heal fast.  In a few minutes his system will purge it and the hex will kill him.  Stiles will have to dispel the curse magically.”

“Say what now?” Stiles squeaked.

“Are you insane?  _This_ kid?” Laura demanded.

“He’s got a spark; he closed the seal against us on nothing but pure instinct he can do it.”

“Maybe he’s got the potential but he _doesn’t know how_.”

Peter held up a clawed hand and shrugged.

“No.  No way.  You are not an Alpha, Uncle Peter, you could paralyze or even kill him.  Even if you don’t you can’t control it well enough to pass on a specific experience.”

“How about we let Stiles decide?  What do you say, Mr. Stilinski?”

“I’ll do it,” Scott offered stepping forward “Whatever it is, let me do it instead.”  Stiles was going to buy him a new bike.

But Peter shook his head.  “It has to be Stiles.  Please, please help me save my nephew.”

Stiles stared at the man openmouthed.  He looked at Laura who was holding her breath waiting for his answer with tears running down her face.  Suddenly he couldn’t see them as the mysterious and beautiful Hales, or a real life pack of movie monsters.  He just saw a family watching someone they loved die.  Just like he had watched his mom die.  “Tell me what to do.”

“Come here,” Peter gestured to the space beside him.  Stiles moved into place and let the man take his wrists.  “Place your hands here,” he moved them to rest on Derek’s forehead and lower abdomen.

“ _Gyah ha ha_!” Stiles shrieked as the werewolf’s glowing blue eyes snapped open and bored into him, one hand clamping down on the arm over his stomach for a moment before he passed out again.

“I think he likes you,” Peter mused.

“Are you kidding!?  He nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Relax.  Now close your eyes, take deep breaths and focus on what you need to do.  The information you need will come to you but you have to concentrate.”

Stiles did as he was told.  Once his heart rate had slowed to a non-potentially pace he said “Okay, ready.”

“This will sting a little, but remember: _concentrate_.”

Stiles felt the werewolf’s claws pierce the back of his neck in a moment of searing agony and then he could feel the man _in his head!_ He couldn’t make any sense of the images and memories tumbling through his mind so he just kept silently repeating _“Help Derek.  Help Derek.”_ like a mantra.  Suddenly something clicked.  A reel of experiences unfurled as Peter’s years of research into magic and mythology became available to him like he’d done it himself.  He didn’t even bother trying to comprehend what he was taking in, just let it guide his thoughts and hands.  His mouth was moving, whispering something when he felt Derek’s skin burn under his fingers like a hot skillet.  The werewolf’s body arched into a bow but he kept going until he sensed the malicious hex shatter like a diamond struck at the right angle, glittering shards of power tearing at his mind as he screamed.

He collapsed forward, head spinning while he tried to piece together what the hell had just happened.  A warm hand was stroking his hair.  When he opened his eyes he saw Derek, back in human form, staring at him with a blank expression “You okay.”

“Fine.”  He was.  Except for the embarrassing fact that he was sprawled over the guy’s chest like it was a comfy couch.  “Sorry!” he barked, lurching upright only to be caught by Peter when the vertigo caught up with him again.

“Take it easy there, Stiles.  That certainly was an experience.”  The man sounded _thrilled_.

“You need to cut your nails.  Asswolf,” he mumbled.

Laura let out a peal of laughter.  “Who told you his secret nickname?”

“Speaking of secrets, what are we going to do with these two?”

Scott evidently didn’t like his tone.  “You’re going to leave us the hell alone is what,” he said pushing Peter aside to take over Stiles support duty.

“It’s mother’s decision.  She’ll want to thank Stiles personally anyway.  That is if they think they can manage not run down Main Street screaming “Werewolf!” until then?”

“We won’t say anything,” Stiles assured them.  His head had begun to unscramble and the enormity of what had just happened what he’d just _learned_ , set in.

“Good,” Peter said, clapping his hands together, “Help your brother up.  We need to get back to the house and join the others.  The Fairy Queen has crossed the line trying to kill one of ours.  Tonight we hunt for blood.”  Stiles tried not to quail at hearing how excited the man sounded at the prospect.

The three werewolves left without further ado, Stiles and Scott staring after them dumbfounded.

“Did that just happen or did the pharmacy make a mistake with my Adderall?”

“Right there with you dude,” Scott said eyeing his inhaler like it might sprout wings and fly away.  Not that that would have surprised them after…everything.

“Let’s just go.  You can explain the mess to the werewolf veterinarian extraordinaire tomorrow.”

“Me?”

“Don’t give me indignant face.  _You’re_ the one who didn’t close up on time.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s fair,” Scott admitted, “But dude, _werewolves_!  And you totally saved one!  With magic!”

“You are way too excited about this,” Stiles mumbled.

“Excited?  I thought I was gonna puke when that guy stuck his claws in your neck.”

“Peter.  His name is Peter Hale.”

“You know them a little, right?  Because your Dad’s the Sheriff and Talia Hale’s the mayor?”

“Yeah, that’s how.”  It still hadn’t…settled, but Stiles got the impression that he now knew a lot about the Hales.  The counterspell had only been a tiny slice of what he’d seen of the werewolf’s consciousness.  He chuckled under his breath a little when he remembered lying on Derek’s rock hard chest while the werewolf stared back at him uncomfortably.  A Christmas miracle indeed.

 

 

 

After he dropped Scott off at his house Stiles went home, fully intending to break into his Dad’s liquor cabinet and retrieve a bottle of Jack.  Hopefully the alcohol would dissolve away the remnants of Peter in his head.  The man was hot, sure, but was a little too old and that whole mind-sharing thing had been almost bad touch levels of intimate.

He didn’t get the chance.  Not five minutes after he’d gotten home there was a knock on the door.  Sighing, he went to answer it.  Whoever it was, no one came calling at the Sheriff’s house at this time of night to bring _good_ news.  But instead of one of his Dad’s deputies he found Melissa McCall, Scott’s mom, when he opened the door, still wearing her nurse’s scrubs under her heavy coat.  His heart froze when he saw the look on her face.

It was devastated.

“No,” he choked out.  He’d dreaded and planned for this news every day of his life.  While Melissa was saying something about a car crash and a deer part of his mind was running down a checklist of things he had to do.  The life insurance and financial documents were in the lockbox in the office.  The funeral home had to be called, there were relatives to contact, and since he was sixteen he’d have to set up a meeting with Child Services to work out getting Melissa temporary custody of him.

But that methodical, analytical part of him was wholly overshadowed by the agonized wail of denial that was burning through his brain.  He had to get out there.

Melissa was calling his name but he couldn’t stop, not yet.  He got in the Jeep and floored it, leaving the empty house behind him as the snow began to fall.


	2. Deja Vu  Never Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles retreats to a private place to let the news sink in and leaves with a souvenir.
> 
> The next day he gets a surprise visitor and learns just how much Peter actually left behind in his head in an unexpected and horrifying (hilarious) way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: BRIEF MENTION OF TO SUICIDAL THOUGHTS

It was still frickin’ freezing out but Stiles was having a hard time caring about that.  The chill sapping the strength from his limbs had nothing on the ice filling his chest, so frigid it burned in a constant searing agony.  He briefly considered simply staying where he was and letting the cold have him.  In these conditions exposure could be fatal in a matter of hours.  He wouldn’t actually have to _do_ anything, just sit there maybe unzip his hoodie to hurry things along.  Dying slowly wasn’t ever pleasant, he knew this, but as such things went hypothermia wasn’t the worst.

The low flicker of shame he felt for even _considering_ it was the first spark of warmth he’d felt in hours.  It wouldn’t have done him any good anyway.  His parents would have kicked his ass clean out of the afterlife and back into his body if he ever tried to pull anything that self-serving and idiotic.

He gave up idly sketching in the dirt and checked the time on his phone, numb fingers drawing the process considerably, frustration adding a little to the heat returning to him.  Midnight.  He hadn’t even been there very long.  For a while he’d sat in his hideout and listened to wind shriek through holes in the roof as the blizzard unleashed its wrath on Beacon Hills like it was possessed of a vicious will.   Stiles had never seen anything like it, but for now he seemed to be in the eye of the storm and it was time to go before the roads became impassable even for his jeep.

Shaking some feeling back into his extremities was going to take some work, though.  While rubbed and huffed and stretched he looked around the confines of his sanctuary.  He’d found the place a couple of years before during one of his and Scott’s more memorable misadventures.  A local girl had gone missing in the preserve and the two of them had come to the conclusion that they would be heroes if they were the ones that found her, although truthfully Stiles was mostly interested in impressing one Lydia Martin, his enduring obsession.  He and Scott had gotten separated almost immediately and were soon so turned about they didn’t have a prayer of finding their way out, which was ironic since the Hales had found the missing kid about two minutes after.  They probably sniffed her out, he realized, because _werewolves_.  Jesus.  After spending half the night stumbling around lost and terrified he’d literally stumbled upon what would later become his very own super secret spy base.

Although he had no idea why anyone would build a root cellar out in the middle of nowhere ro what the hell the deal was with the giant stump that sat on top of it.  He had gotten used to the weird vibe of the place but as he looked around he couldn’t help but appreciate how much it resembled the set of a low-budget horror flick.  He hadn’t thought to grab a flashlight before running off into a snowstorm and had had to use some old candles he’d found in a box there, where previously he’d made it a rule to avoid to screwing around with the piles of spooky junk in the corners..  While the cloying spicy smell wafting out of them was nice, if a little irritating to his nose, the flickering light and swaying shadows the flames produced added just enough _Blair_ _Witch Project_ to the ambience to make the place downright creepy.

As he stood up to leave he took s last look around, realizing he’d never be coming back there.  This was a place for a kid to run off to when he wanted to dodge his responsibilities, somewhere simultaneously safe and forbidden where he could fight dragons instead of worrying about his Dad.  Now his Dad was gone and the monsters were real. 

At that moment it wasn’t the grief, or the loss, or the loneliness that really tore into him, it was the sheer and utter _helplessness_.  He’d watched his mother slowly die of cancer.  He’d waited at home for a Father who might one day just not come back, watching The Job slowly wear the man down and age him much too fast.  And now there were werewolves and fairies and God only knew what else running around in the woods, driving deer into the roads in front of oncoming cars.  And to think all these years he’d been worried about _bullets_. 

His hysterical giggling bounced ricocheted around through the dry air, adding a gruesome quality to the already sepulchral feel of the cellar.  It was definitely time to skedaddle before he started seeing vampires rising out of the dirt or something (assuming that _couldn’t_ actually happen, because now he wasn’t sure).  He had to find a way to be stronger; he was on his own now.  Sure he had Scott and Melissa but it wasn’t the _same_ , it didn’t keep away that one most terrible word.  _Orphan_.  He felt like it had been branded on his forehead like the Number of the Beast.

A stray beam of moonlight somehow how found its way down there illuminating something dark and glossy in his peripheral vision.  There, where the roots of the stump touched the ground was a tiny sapling barely more than a bud.  It was just a couple of leaves and a short green stem trying to force its way out of the gnarled, constricting roots it arisen from but that were slowly strangling it, not that it would survive the hard freeze that night.  There was just way too much metaphor going on for Stiles to ignore.  Besides, Stiles knew all about bonsai, having written a paper on the subject for English class because the formal and preposterously miniaturized aesthetic of the ancient eastern practice was a much more poetic metaphor of life in the South during Reconstruction than anything _Faulkner_ wrote, or so he argued in his essay.  Whatever, he got an A.  He figured over-identifying with a plant was probably a warning sign of imminent psychosis, but the more he thought about it the more determined he became to take a piece of this place with him to his next…wherever.  It was a continuity thing.

Unfortunately the shoot did _not_ want to come with.  By the time he’d managed to separate it out his fingernails were torn and bloody and he was sweating, which was torture at that temperature.  He felt deliriously smug though as he scooped up some dirt and settled the plant into a dusty old glass jar.

“I’m gonna have to come up with a name for you, little guy,” he told it, thereby completing his descent into madness.  It was unlikely anyone would notice anyway.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Melissa McCall, it turned out, was a _lot_ stronger than she looked. 

 

When he arrived at the McCall house there was a Sheriff’s Department cruiser in the driveway and for a second hope arced through his chest like a bolt of lightning before he saw the license plate; it wasn’t his Dad’s.  The brief flash of light made everything darker when it had faded, letting the cold seep further into his bones as he reluctantly eased out of the jeep and shambled towards the door.  He opened the door without bothering to knock, coming within a hair’s breadth from actually smiling remembering Melissa’s ongoing frustration with his lack of boundaries.  She was standing just inside, in the process of tearing a terrified looking Deputy Fuller a new one when she saw him.

Of all the possible reactions he might have imagined her having at his sudden flight and subsequent return, _this_ one was nowhere on the list.

She took two quick strides toward him and slapped him across the face.  _Hard_.  “What the _hell_ were you _thinking_!?”  Stiles was sure his feet actually left the ground at one point as she grabbed him by the arms and shook him like a broken Etch-a-Sketch.  “Don’t you _ever_ do that to me again, you hear!?” she shrieked with tears in her eyes, pulling him into a bone crushing hug.

A second in her warm embrace was all it took to shatter the ice inside of him, and with it the dam that had held back the flood.  He started to shiver uncontrollably as the first heaving sobs tore their way out of him.  “I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!” he wailed brokenly on a loop, sagging to the floor.

Melissa followed him down, arms never leaving him for a second.  “It’s okay, Stiles.  I’m here.  I’ve got you.  It’s okay honey,” she said rubbing her hands up and down his back and over the stiff bristles of his buzz cut.  “You’re _frozen_.  Scott!” she called, “Get a blanket.  We need to warm him up!”  His friend snatched a blanket of the back of the couch and rushed to their side.  For the split second she let him go so they could sling it around his shaking body it felt like the earth had been torn away beneath him.  “Take Stiles upstairs and get him settled.  I have to talk to the Deputy and…get some things squared away.”

Scott nodded, pulling him to his feet and wincing when Stiles transferred his desperate hold to him.  “It’s okay, buddy, I’ve got you.”  He dragged him up the stairs, stopping once to use his inhaler from the stress of trying support his weight, which just made him cry all the harder.  The poor guy was panting when they finally made it to the bedroom.  Scott pulled back the comforter and counted to three before heaving them both onto the bed fully dressed with shoes still on.  He didn’t comment or complain, just made sure Stiles was snugly wrapped in his blanket before pulling the comforter over the both of them and let him bury his head in chest while he sobbed.  It was a bro thing.  “I’ve got you.  I’m here.  You’re safe.  I’m not going anywhere, ever.  I promise.”

He could hear the tears of sympathy in the other boy’s voice, feel the quiet fervor burning over a solid bedrock of affection.  It was enough.

Stiles cried himself to sleep in his best friend’s arms.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Nightmares had been a frequent nuisance for him since his mother died, much like his panic attacks.  Generally they weren’t quite so…abstract.  When he woke with a start sometime around noon he only retained a vague recollection, snatches of images of claws and fire and a black beast with terrible red eyes.  Wiping the flop sweat from his brow he took stock of things.

From the unpleasant burning tingle in his hands, feet, and face he must have suffered from the early stages of frostbite due to his impromptu sojourn into the preserve.  His emotional inventory came next.  Mostly he felt numb.  Not like the night before when he had tried to drink in the cold from the icy air to ease his pain, but more like his five alarm breakdown had simply left him too drained to feel much of anything right then.  He could work with that.

What required immediate attention was the gnawing sensation of hunger in his belly.  Apparently nearly freezing to death really worked up an appetite.  After taking a quick but scalding shower and changing into the spare set of clothes he kept in Scott’s dresser he made his way downstairs to the kitchen in search of sustenance, only to find it occupied by an irate looking Melissa and none other than Talia Hale, the Mayor of Beacon Hills herself.  Like the rest of her family she was uncommonly, or maybe more appropriately, _inhumanly_ , beautiful but where her children carried an air of aloof mystery she radiated confidence and strength in a modest charcoal skirt suit and scarlet blouse.  Her makeup was likewise restrained, her hair an unremarkable length and cut, and somehow she still looked ready for the red carpet.  Stiles had met the woman, _the_ _werewolf_ he reminded himself, dozens of times and had even eaten with her during working dinners with his Dad, but repeated exposure had done nothing to lessen the impact her presence made through sheer force of personality.  He was a little scared of her.

Melissa was trying to hold her own but was clearly outmatched.  “Good morning, honey.  Stiles, Mayor Hale here…”

“Please, call me Talia,” the woman said with a beauty pageant smile.

Mrs. McCall was having _none_ of that.  “…Mayor Hale here would like to talk to you about where you’ll be staying.”  The look in her eyes screamed disapproval, like she wanted to tell the Mayor to go to hell, which would certainly be an unsuitable place for Stiles to spend the holidays.

Talia’s nails were well cared for but free of any polish or ornamentation.  He got a good look when she placed her hands on his shoulders in what may been the most unnerving attempt at a comforting gesture ever.  The woman’s fingertips sprouted _claws_ for God’s sake.  He flinched a little, but she just smiled like she knew exactly what he was thinking and was trying to make a point, if probably not a threat.  Probably.  “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.  For the both of you,” she added for Melissa’s benefit, earning her another scowl.  “Your Father was a good man and one of my best friends. I was hoping you might consider staying with me and my family, at least until the school year starts.  Looking after you during this difficult time is the least I can do to repay him for everything he’s done for me over the years.”

The wheels were spinning in his head trying to unravel all the subtext.  Point: his Dad pretty much raved about her, even endorsed her during the election.  Since he was very good at his job the Hales were probably not snacking on the populous on a regular basis.  Point: Stiles was in on her family’s secret, one he had no doubt the fierce woman would kill to protect without hesitation if she felt legitimately threatened, before going right back home to read her pups a bedtime story.  Even worse, Scott knew too and the compassionate, hypermoral guy could be hard to predict when dealing with such an ethically murky dilemma.  Point: the same part of Stiles that should have wanted to gibber in terror at the idea of walking into a literal den of wolves was too busy screaming at him not waste the opportunity to possibly crush his crippling feeling of helplessness for good.  If there was any truth at all to the legends, from what he’d seen the Hales could make him practically indestructible.

“Okay.”

Stiles’ face must not have been as lifeless as he felt because Talia’s answering smile was wry, like she knew exactly what he was thinking, why he’d agreed, and found it _amusing_.  “Excellent.  I’ll send my son by your house to pick up some of your things.” 

It was a testament to his exhausted state that the idea of Derek Hale pawing around in his underwear drawer didn’t send him into a panic spiral.  Still, that was _not_ going to happen though.  “I’d rather Scott do that if it’s alright with you.”

She nodded.  “I understand.  Laura took him out for quick bite while I talked with Melissa.  I’m sure my daughter would be happy to drive him.”  She raised her eyebrows at Melissa in question.

“That would be fine,” she said through clenched teeth.  “Stiles, are you sure about this?”  Mrs. McCall was like his favorite aunt, but she was also a single mother who worked more double shifts than single and could barely afford her mortgage and Scott’s medical bills.  Eventually Stiles would have money from life insurance and death benefits from the Department (he planned on finding a way to sneak some of that in the McCall’s accounts regardless, and made a mental not for the umpteenth time to break Scott’s Dad’s nose if he ever saw him again), but for now he wasn’t any better off until he at least sold the house.  There was no way in hell he was going to let her risk her financial security for him, especially not when he had a ready alternative.

“Yeah, I’m sure.  I think a little Yuletide Hale Clan Chaos will help me take my mind off…things.  Do you have a pen and paper?”

“Sure ,” she answered, snatching the notepad and pencil by the phone.  “Here.”

He took them and quickly wrote down a few instructions for Scott.  His dad believed in being prepared and had an advance directive in case of…in case something happened.  Stiles had hated the idea, calling it tempting fate, but now he was unutterably grateful not to have to do much in the way of making arrangements.  He’d never have managed on his own.  He tore off the sheet and gave it to Melissa along with his keys.  “Scott knows where everything is.”

“Oh come here,” she huffed, pulling him in for another of her anaconda hugs.  “Our door is always open, okay?”

“I know,” he wheezed, “I had a copy of the house key made.”

She chuckled with exasperated fondness, the familiar sound too close to his Dad’s, sending fresh ripples of agony through him when he realized he couldn’t remember the last time the man had laughed.  “That doesn’t surprise me.  Scares me, but doesn’t surprise me.”

“I’ll be okay, promise.”  From the way she just smiled at him tearily and stroked his cheek with a thumb without comment he must have gotten better at lying recently.  He stepped back and nodded at Talia, who smiled at him in a way he was almost certain was genuine.

 

He waited in silence until Talia’s sleek black Mercedes had turned into the wooded drive that led to the Hale House to speak.  “So…werewolves?”

“Yes.  No.  Yes.” she replied without taking her eyes off the road.

“Um, what?”

“Yes, it is possible for a human to become a werewolf.  No, that is not an option for you right now.  Yes, I will answer any questions you have honestly.”

“What?  How..?” he sputtered.

“Stiles I’ve known you your entire life.  Even before my family started taking a more active role in local affairs this was a small town and you have a way getting yourself noticed.”  She turned and smiled at him.  “Besides, you’re basically Peter’s evil soul twin.  I shudder to think of what mayhem will be unleashed now that you two have finally been introduced.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and sighed.  “Jeez, Tal, just lay it all out there why don’t you.”  He slapped his hand over his own mouth in shock.  Where the _hell_ had _that_ come from?  It had just slipped out automatically with the ease of long familiarity and frequent repetition, but was a _wildly_ inappropriate thing to say to the _Werewolf Mayor_.

Her smile faded into a considering look tinged with regret and just a touch of anger.  “I see my brother’s adventures in memory transference were not without consequence.  I’m terribly sorry.  He had no right to do this to you.”

“He asked, I agreed,” he replied numbly.  Just how much Peter was left in his head anyway?

“And you saved my son’s life,” she said, eyes glowing red.  “I owe you a debt that can never be repaid.”

“Is that why you’re taking me in?” he asked cynically.

“In part.  Given your preexisting propensity for sarcasm I want to see just how much of my brother’s wit has been left behind before I turn you loose on an unsuspecting populous.”  Her tone was serious but there was laughter sparkling in her eyes.

“Wow.  I guess it must be a family trait.”

Talia threw back her head and let out a bark of laughter as they pulled up in front of the house.  “Oh yes.  I think you’ll fit in just fine around here,” she said putting the car in park and opening the door.  Seeing the jovial, motherly side of the woman the guys down at the station called “The Iron Fist” was throwing him for a loop. “Are you ready to meet the pack?”  It seemed not even unspeakable grief could fully suppress his insatiable curiosity because he felt a feeble flicker of excitement flutter in his stomach.  A stomach that chose that moment to let out a wolf-worthy snarl of hunger.  “And maybe get you some lunch,” she added glancing at his midsection.

“I’d ask if you were planning on fattening me up before baking me into a cookie or something but that would be mixing fairy tales,” he quipped clambering out of the passenger side.  There was a faint chorus of laughter coming from inside the house.  “Right, super hearing.”

“Fair warning: Laura has decided you are the second coming of Merlin after what you did for Derek.  She may try to keep you.”

That didn’t sound too awful.  “Um, okay?” 

They stately white mansion melted seamlessly into the snow, the bright afternoon light shattering on the countless flakes lending a subtle prismatic aura to scene.  With clear periwinkle sky overhead and the gleam of the frozen forest all around, the house looked enchanted like something from a story.  He followed Talia up onto the porch, crunching through the foot of powder on the ground awkwardly while she glided though it like a swan despite being in a pair frickin’ _heels_.  Stiles stomped on the floorboards to get off what he could, not that would help with already melting slush that had worked its way _inside_ his shoes.

“I had Derek take the little ones for a run in woods so you wouldn’t be overwhelmed,” she said opening the door for him and waving him through. 

The older Hales were arranged in front of the broad staircase in what they probably thought was a charming tableau all of All American family-ness.  Unfortunately, knowing they were werewolves made their presentation a little too Stepford to be comforting, especially since those wide and inviting smiles could grow into fanged maws at any second.  In the center stood a tiny gray haired woman who would be the picture of a sweet old grandmother if you overlooked the steel in her gaze and the unnaturally poised way she held herself.  _Catherine, Talia’s mother_ , he recalled.  One wrinkled hand rested on Laura’s arm in a symbolic gesture of restraint while the young woman shook with restrained mirth at the deer-in-headlights look on his face.  On her left Talia’s husband Daniel hovered seemingly impassive, but something told him the man was just better at hiding his amusement than his daughter.  Peter stood at her right, arms crossed and leaning against the banister with a wry expression that said he had the same opinion of the contrived greeting that Stiles did.

“Heeey everybody,” he said sketching a wave.

“It’s a pleasure to have you here, Stiles,” Daniel said with a smile.

Peter rolled his eyes.  “I told you we should have met him one at a time; he looks like a rabbit about to bolt.”  The man extended his fangs as if to say the image that conjured made him hungry.

“Very helpful Uncle Peter,” Laura said with a swat to the back of his head, earning her a snarl and a flash of yellow eyes.

Catherine growled menacingly, causing both of them to flinch.  “Look at you two, acting like a pair of unruly pups when we have a _human_ guest in our home.”  Stiles couldn’t blame them for hastily mumbling apologies and looking down at the floor.  The woman was fucking _terrifying_.

As Talia closed the door with a bang to punctuate her mother’s reproof a cherubic toddler with a mop of golden curls tottered into the foyer to get a look at Stiles.  “Funny smell,” he lisped nostrils flaring and eyes flashing. 

Correction: _were_ toddler.  “Um…sorry?”   He looked to the adults for help but they were too busy trying not to laugh, failing entirely when the little boy launched himself onto Stiles in a leap no human two year old could possible make.  He caught the boy reflexively and would have gone tumbling over backwards if Talia hadn’t put out an arm to steady him.

“My hoo-man,” the boy cooed burying his face in Stiles’ neck.  It was without a doubt the most adorable thing _ever_.

“You better watch out Stiles,” Laura said when she was done awwww-ing, “It looks like The Demon has taken a liking to you.”

“Law-wa chase!” the boy squealed, jumping off Stiles and running down the hall, dutifully pursued by the older Hale.

“That kid is incorrigible,” Peter said fondly.

A woman with short blond hair and bright blue eyes came in wearing a paint-splattered white sundress despite the season.  _Samantha_.  “What do you expect?” she asked arching an eyebrow at her husband, “He’s his Father’s son.”

Stiles’ brain was suddenly overloaded with images and remembered sensations.  The scent of her perfume the night they’d met, floral, dark, and seductive.  How she had stared at him with wonder in her eyes as she stood before the altar in her wedding dress.  Holding their children together for the first time.  Making slow, lazy love on warm spring nights with the scent of flowers wafting through the open window.  It wasn’t until the sound of Peter’s strangled laughter penetrated the fuzzy pink haze his thoughts had melted into that he realized something was wrong.  He had wrapped himself around Samantha like an octopus and was kissing the stunned woman like he was trying to inhale her face.

A tidal wave of mortification swept over him leaving a livid crimson blush behind across his entire body.  Stiles flung himself of her like she was on fire, retreating to the nearest corner and trying to make himself as small as possible, desperately wishing that the churning ball of Peter-ness in his head contained instructions on how to magically teleport him somewhere he could die of embarrassment in peace.  This was _not_ how his first kiss was supposed to go.

“Well that was bracing,” Samantha said wiping her mouth, wide-eyed.  “It’s not _funny_ , Peter!” she scolded her husband who was doubled over with wheezing guffaws.  “Thanks to you I just traumatized an underage boy, with my _lips_!”  Her expression of amused consternation turned into a one of confusion as she looked around.  “Where did he go?”  The Hales, save Peter who had tears dripping off his face he was laughing so hard, tilted their heads at her in a comically canine gesture.  She waved a hand through the empty air in front of her.  “Well?”

The werewolves started in shock, looking around frantically and sniffing the air.

“I can’t even smell him anymore,” Daniel said stunned, “And I don’t hear his heartbeat anywhere either.”

Stiles was getting lightheaded.  “I’m right here,” he said raising his hand, but nobody reacted.

“Peter, explain!” Talia commanded, red eyes burning with anger.

Things were starting to get kind of blurry.

It took the man a minute to compose himself enough to answer.  Stiles had to give him credit.  Peter must have had a set of brass balls to stand there smirking smugly while receiving death glares from a bunch of werewolves that looked wound tighter than piano wire.  “He’s still here.  I believe he used the cloaking spell from the grimoire I bought off that witch in Tucson.”

The image of a batty old lady who reeked of gin and too many cats swam in front of Stiles’ eyes as he started swaying on his feet.

“Stiles?” Daniel called, “It’s okay, no one’s mad at you, you can reverse the spell now.”

Stiles tried to answer but could quite remember how his tongue worked.

“How did even manage something like that to begin with?” Catherine hissed, “He’s only a boy.”

“I told you he was a rare find.  The kid’s a _prodigy_.  We’re lucky to have him.”  Peter was beaming like a Pro Ball scout that had stumbled onto a pitcher with a two hundred mile per hour fastball.

“We don’t _have him_ ,” Talia snarled.  “Stiles just lost his Father and we will _not_ take advantage of him like that.  Besides which, he won’t be of much use to himself or anyone else if he _magically melts his brain into a puddle of slurry accidentally_ _casting a spell_ you _put in his head_.”

Stiles didn’t like the sound of that.  He’d have to ask about it later though, because the room had started to spin violently and the floor looked so very comfortable.


	3. A Midwinter's Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles recovers from his accidental casting, finally gets some food, and gets to know some of the Hales a bit better.
> 
> Scott comes by to drop off his stuff and make sure he hasn't been eaten, which sparks an alliance between Stiles an Laura with questionable intent.
> 
> Peter gives him what he needs to start unraveling the mess in his head.

Stiles was pretty sure he was dreaming.  After all, he’d never actually seen an opera house in person and couldn’t imagine was series of calamities could possibly lead him to standing on a stage facing a full house packed with people in black tie.  His theory was further supported by the fact Christian Bale and Callista Flockheart were seated in the front row staring daggers at him.  He tried to move, only to find he was securely bound to something.  Looking down he saw he was tied to whatever it was by thick ropes.  More disconcerting was the fact he seemed to be wearing a puffy red dress, the ends of blond wig falling over his shoulders.  Since neither cross-dressing nor public bondage were typical elements of even his most lurid reveries he was going to have to amend his original hypothesis, because this was most definitely a _nightmare_.  He tried tuning his head to get a better look at what he was bound to: a massive tree that looked like it had erupted from the stage floor.

There was motion in his peripheral vision as Michelle Pfeiffer stepped up beside him wearing a puffy, gauzy blue monstrosity of gown, a crown and veil atop her head.  He got a sinking feeling when he realized he dreamed his way into that atrocious film adaptation of _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ as Rupert Everett cam e up on his other side dressed like Julius Caesar.  And seriously, what had the costume designers been _thinking_?  He tried to speak but no sooner had he opened his mouth than a gag appeared around it, reducing his protests to a frantic murmuring.

Titania-Michelle spoke first, lips parting to reveal a mouth filled with shark-like teeth.  “So I, admiring of his qualities, things so base and vile, holding no quantity, love can transpose to form and dignity,” she recited, pulling a long curved knife from her sleeve.  This was going to _suck_.

Oberon –Rupert turned a vulpine smile on him and continued, drawing his own blade “Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind; and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.”

He knew what was coming next and tried to scream _“Oh fuck no!”_ but it didn’t make it past the gag.  The audience stood and cheered as his co-stars drove their knives into his eyes.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

He woke with a start, hands flying up to cover his eyes from the merry amber gleam of a winter afternoon sun.  Wasn’t this supposed to be the shortest day of the year?  “Ungh, I don’t believe in fairies,” he groaned still trying to shake off the nightmare.  Given recent events dreaming of homicidal fairies was all too predictable, but his subconscious must have been feeling particularly vicious to force him into his most hated version of his least favorite Shakespeare.

Three slow, thunderous detonations split the air, rolling over him in an earthshaking vibration that made the bones in his skull feel like they were about to rattle apart.  Some _ass_ was _clapping_.

“And here Laura said you were the smart one,” a sour baritone voice drawled from somewhere nearby.

“Fuck off, Peter Pan,” he growled miserably.  It felt like every hangover he’d ever had had moved into his head and thrown a kegger of their own.  Magic _blew_.

He could almost hear the glower being directed at him.  “Mother said you need to drink this.”  There was the _thunk_ of a mug being set down by his ear with an entirely excessive amount of force, making him flinch at piercing explosion of sound.

It took a titanic effort but he managed to roll over and drag himself upright enough to feel out the mug looking through barely slitted eyes.  After a couple tries he managed figure out where his mouth was and bring the cup of steaming liquid up for a sip.  It tasted beyond foul, but the second he had successfully forced some down the pain began to lessen.  He scalded his tongue as greedily sucked down the bizzaro tea.

In less than a minute half the huge mug was gone and he was able to work his way up to a sitting position.  His eyes were still killing him but he had regained enough use of them to turn his iciest stare on Derek, currently leaning against the door frame and sneering at him.  “Where am I?”

“My room.”

Stiles’ brain froze.  He was in Derek Hale’s bedroom.  _He was in Derek Hale’s bed!_ He was in no way surprised to learn that Derek Hale was an unrepentant _asshole_.  “Why?”

“Since you saved my life my family decided I should give you my room to show my gratitude.”  His tone implied he would rather show Stiles the business end of his claws.

“Thank you so much,” he gushed pretending to miss the werewolf’s borderline hostility.  “Although I guess this makes me Goldilocks, huh?  Baby werewolf’s bed is juuuust right,” he said in a sing-song voice.”

Derek smiled at him, showing a little fang.  “If you didn’t want to be cast as the fairy tale heroine you should have rethought that sweatshirt.”

Stiles stared at him in confusion for a moment before looking down,  gaping in mock horror at the bright red hoodie he’d been keeping at Scott’s.  “No wonder everyone was laughing so hard when I turned up.”  He took another sip of whatever miracle potion he’d been given.  “This stuff works fast.  What is it?”

Derek shrugged.  “Beats me; Peter made it.”

Stiles did a spit take in horror, turning the man’s glare from antagonistic to downright murderous as the foul smelling stuff sprayed all over the bedspread.  Whatever, he’d rather face claws than blindly dive into another Peter Hale sponsored fiasco.  “You know what?  I think I’m all better now.”  Except for the fact he was dripping with the mystery drink.  “Uh, could I get a towel, maybe?”  The man’s scowl soured further but he nodded anyway and slipped out into the hall.

Stiles scrambled to the edge of the queen size bed, eager to do some snooping.  For all that he saw the man at least every other day he knew next to nothing about him, save that he was a painter and had had a couple shows over the years.  Strangely, instead of embracing the rich boy dilettante artist stereotype and extolling the virtues of his aggressively mediocre work, Derek always looked _intensely_ uncomfortable whenever someone tried to flatter him over it.  It was one of the things that made him such a frustrating mystery.  Then again, he had read the man’s police file and could hardly blame him for being aloof after the gruesome Kate Argent ordeal.

The room didn’t have a lot to say either.  The walls were the same medium blue as the bedspread and completely barren.  Other than the bed there was a nightstand without so much as an alarm clock on it, a dresser, and a single bookcase that was so overstuffed it looked like it might collapse at any second.  That was all.  Not quite willing to stoop to rooting around in a near stranger’s drawers he hopped over to take a look at the man’s idea of a good read.  It was eclectic to say the least.  Harry Potter sat next to Chekov, Hemmingway was squeezed in between Crichton and Austen, and on every shelf was a light smattering of Heinlein and Clancy.  The most bizarre thing was the bottom shelf.  It wasn’t crowded like the others.  Instead it contained the _Fangs and Hearts_ book series along with the DVD box sets of the first four seasons of the hit show based on it, still in their plastic wrap.  It was equal parts hilarious and creepy that an _adult_ _male_ _werewolf_ would have a whole shelf dedicated to a _Young Adult Werewolf Romance_ that catered primary to rabid legions of teenage girls.  He pulled out one of the books noting the thick layer of dust over everything.  First edition, original printing, signed by the author.  He checked a couple more; they were all the same.  The whole collection together would probably fetch enough on EBay to put a kid through college.   Why the hell would Derek Hale of all people have it collecting dust in his bedroom?

“It was a gift,” the werewolf muttered behind him.

Stiles may or may not have made a sound an uncharitable person would call a squeal as he flailed around to face Derek, only to get a towel thrown in his face.  He pulled it off his head and arched a questioning eyebrow at the man.

A series of emotions flickered over his face too fast to track before settling on an expression that could best be described as constipated.  Still, Stiles could have sworn he’d seen grief, anger, and shame, amongst other things, which made no sense at all.  He had to stop and take a deep breath when seeing those feelings coming off Derek yanked his own into the forefront.  Suddenly he was weirdly grateful that the man was being a jerk to him.  It was infinitely preferable to sympathy, or worse _pity_.  Might as well keep it going then.  “I don’t know dude.  I wake up in a strange man’s bed and discover he likes to read word-porn for teenage girls?  It’s a little bit too _To Catch a Predator_ for my comfort.”

Derek rolled his eyes.  “Right, because I like having a teenage boy rolling around in my sheets covering with them flop sweat and hormones,” he growled.

“I don’t know, Der,” Cora “The Demon Wolf” Hale said sidling up to her big brother, “You do spend an awful lot of time at Starbucks hanging with the high schoolers.  Can you blame him for thinking you’re looking for some jailbait to roll in the sheets with?” she asked smiling sweetly.”  Stiles had given her the ironic moniker years before because she was the best kind of bitch, and always had the same predatory smirk on her face when she tore some hapless jackass a new one.  She was only girl in his grade that could stand up to Lydia without backing down and the confrontation she’d had with Jackson one day in gym was the stuff of legends at BHH.  The pompous prick had nearly cried by the time she was through dressing him down in front of the entire lacrosse team and half the student body.

“Hey, Cora,” he said with a salute.

She nodded back, grinning.  “Stiles.”  She proceeded to have a heated argument with her brother in what he guessed was wolf language, all eyebrows and soft vocalizations.  It ended with her throwing up her hands and Derek stalking away with a snarl.  “Sorry about him.  He wouldn’t know manners if they came up and ripped his throat out.”

Stiles laughed, and only a little hysterically this time.  “Oh go easy in the old Sourwolf; it’s not his fault he was afflicted with appalling taste in contemporary fiction.  We should be kind to those less fortunate,” he said solemnly.

Cora belted out a laugh that toed the line between humor and howl.  “Sure.   Does that mean you won’t help me string fishing line across his favorite running path in the woods?” she asked offering him a hand up.

“I never said my morals were infallible,” he answered with a wicked grin that was the twin to hers as she pulled him to his feet.  “Hey, you’re kind of awesome; why didn’t we ever hang out?”

“Because I’m too good for you, obviously,” he scoffed, leading him down the hall to the main staircase.  “But, seriously, we weren’t allowed.”

That was unsettling.  “Why not?  Was it my irresistible charm?  Afraid you would lose control and start licking me in public?”

“Something like that,” she sniggered.  “Actually there’s a whole no fly list of humans we’re not supposed to get too close to.  It would be problematic if one of us lost control and mauled the Sheriff’s kid.”  It took her a second to realize what she’d just said before freezing in place halfway down the stairs.  Stiles was having a hard enough time ignoring the lash of pain; he wasn’t up for having an awkward moment the whole house could hear, so he kept walking like he hadn’t noticed anything and crashed into Cora from behind.

“Wow sorry, you okay?”  _She_ had barely rocked forward, but he was pretty sure he’d bruised a couple of ribs.

She stared at him blankly for a second before giving him the Hale Classic Eyeroll.  “I’m not made of glass Sti.  Cripes you’re clumsy even for a human,” she teased.  “Aren’t you on the lacrosse team?”

They started moving again.  “I’m _on_ the team but I never actually _play_.  It was Scott’s idea, despite the fact his asthma is so bad I’ve stashed rescue inhalers in strategic places all over town.”

Cora snorted.  “Now that I believe.”  Stiles wasn’t sure if he was imagining the slight dreamy curl turning up the edges of her mouth, so he decided to file it away for further investigation.  _That_ had could have a lot of potential.

 

He let himself be led into the Hales’ dining room, a massive table taking up almost the entire space leaving only narrow walkways around the edges.  There was only a single place set.  “Sit,” Cora commanded, pulling out the chair.  “I want to join the others ASAP but I have to make sure you eat first.  Mom thought you might prefer getting your crash course in Werewolf from a someone more familiar.”

“About that, where is everyone?  I was expecting a lot more…chaos.”  Truthfully he was glad of the surreality of the entire experience and wanted the Hales to keep knocking him off balance before he got comfortable enough to start thinking about other things.

“Dude, it never snows like this here.  Even the ‘rents are out there making snowballs and stalking each other in the trees.”

That actually sounded like fun, except for the whole snow part.  Just thinking about it made him shiver despite the fact he was already wearing three layers like usual.  “I think I’d rather get started on the Werewolf 101 myself.”

Cora shrugged “To each his own.  Okay, important things for surviving Christmas with the Hales.  First, be careful with the little ones because they’re still learning control.  Mom said Demon almost broke your collarbone already; the older kids are a lot stronger and may claw you up pretty bad if the throw a tantrum.  If one of them loses it DON’T RUN, it’ll just set them off further.  Just be calm and non-threatening until one of the adults can get them under control.  You good so far?”

He was having visions of himself dressed as Dorothy being shredded by were-munchkins.  Damn, he needed to find a new theme.  “I’m fine,” he said weakly.

“Uh huh.  Part of the reason we’re giving you time to yourself is so your scent and permeate the house so they don’t overreact when they meet you.  They’ll probably want to scent you, so if there’s a lot of hugging and sniffing just relax, it’s normal.”

He’d left “normal” so far behind it wasn’t even in his rearview anymore.  He refrained of voicing that thought aloud and settled in for more “fascinating,” which was way better in his opinion anyway.

“Second: pack hierarchy.  We’re pretty assimilated in most things but we still share some things with wolves.  Mom’s the Alpha.  She’s large and charge and can flip a car over with one hand.  You’re a guest and a human but this is her den, so try not get on her bad side.”  Cora looked amused at the thought of how that might play out.  Stiles imagined he probably looked a little green.  “The rest of us are Betas and we have our own positions in the hierarchy but you won’t have to worry about that yet.”

Yet? _Yet!?_ “Okay.  So can you guys turn into actual wolves?  I saw Derek and Laura do that creature feature thing…crap, I’m sorry, was that like, offensive?”

Cora laughed and shifted.  “Grrr.  It’s okay, we _are_ a little scary,” she said lisping around her fangs and making menacing gestures with her clawed hands before returning to human form.  “That’s called our Beta Shape.  Alphas can do this giant black wolfman shape that’s _really_ awesome, but hopefully you won’t ever be in a position where you need to see that.”

“Shhh,” Stiles hissed, “The Fates are listening.”

She made a dismissive gesture that had him rubbing his eyes tiredly as he imagined three old crones cackling over a loom. “Right, moving on.  A few wolves like Mom and Laura can do full wolf, but it’s super rare.”

Questions.  So, so many questions he thought his head was going to explode.  Before he could ask any of them Derek appeared with a bowl the size of a small bucket and plopped it down in front of Stiles.  “Eat.”

“Don’t you bark orders at me,” he said with a smile that made the man’s eyebrows quiver like angry caterpillars as he scowled at him.  The smell wafting up from the hearty stew was heavenly. He snatched up the spoon and dug in with a gusto that stopped just shy of demonic possession.  It was delicious, meat potatoes and winter vegetables, seasoned to perfection and piping hot.  Stiles let out an obscene groan of pleasure as the warmth of the stew spread out into his limbs.

Cora could barely contain her giggling.  “Are you sure you’re not a wolf?  I’ve never seen a human devour venison like that.”

The spoon fell out of his hand to land in the bowl with a plop.  “I’m eating _Bambi_?”

Her giggles became full on gales of laughter.  Even Derek joined in with a wheezy rumble that was probably the closest the jerk ever came to displaying a sense of humor.  That it should emerge only at his expense was less than shocking.  Stiles’ stomach betrayed him, letting out a growl like a band saw in protest that he’d stopped eating.  He snatched up the spoon and resumed shoveling the stew into his mouth.  It didn’t taste quite as good now that he knew it was made of woodland creatures.

“You should be grateful,” Cora said when she’d wound down a bit, “You got the best cut.  We’ll eat the rest tonight.  Derek took the buck down this morning to celebrate our victory, and because Mom said he’s responsible for feeding you.”

“Cora,” Derek growled in warning.

“Victory?” Stiles asked confused.  “What victory.”  Chagrin washed over the girl’s face.  Maybe Talia’s promise of open and honest communication hadn’t been entirely heartfelt.  “I’m missing something here.”

She sighed.  “The fairies.  We caught up with them this morning out in the preserve.  There were more than a dozen of them, including the Queen and her handmaidens.  Mom went ballistic after that curse nearly got Derek and things got kind of… _messy_.” 

Yikes.  If even a werewolf shuddered at the memory the carnage must have been spectacular.  “But all of you are okay right? You all came through alright?”

Cora beamed at him like he’d done something very right as his hazy red revenge fantasies crumbled into so much rust.  “We had some help, but yes we’re good.  You’re lucky you’re not a wolf and won’t have to hear all the _life-affirming_ that will be going on tonight.”

“Coooooraaaa,” Derek whimpered as Stiles blushed furiously.  The girl was _evil_.  He returned to the stew hoping to cover his embarrassment but the mammoth bowl was empty.  “I’ll get you another,” the man said scooping it up and trudging off to the kitchen like he was walking to the gallows.  From the way Cora was clearly reveling in her brother’s discomfort _something_ was going on.

“Okay, what am I missing here?  Derek is acting weirder by the second.”

“Oh it’s nothing,” she lied.  She _lied through her teeth_.  “Mom’s been on his case a lot lately but since he refuses to meet her halfway she’s finding creative ways of encouraging him to pull his head out of his ass.”

A snarl echoed from what Stiles presumed to be the direction of the kitchen.  He wasn’t sure how he felt about possibly becoming a chew toy between squabbling werewolves.  Then again, while it might not be the _safest_ form of entertainment, helping to torment Derek was sure to be hours of fun for the whole family.   “Happy to help.”

 

 

When he had polished off a second helping of Bambi he took the bowl into the kitchen insisting he be allowed to wash the dishes himself, much to Cora’s amusement.  It wasn’t until he was placing the them on the drying rack he happened to look out the window over the sink and see the faint plume of smoke rising over the treetops in the distance.  All day he’d had the nagging sensation that he’d left the oven on or something, and after consulting his mental map of Beacon Hills he finally understood why.  In his rush to make it to Scott’s house between the waves of snow the night before he had forgotten to put out the candles in his hideout.  The desiccated old roots and stump had probably gone up like dry tinder, the flames fueled by the howling winds.  It was pure luck he hadn’t burned the whole damn forest down.

Thinking about the cellar reminded him of the sapling he’d taken, which immediately made him think about Scott.  Just as he opened his mouth to call out for Cora the front door slammed open with an echoing thud.

“Stiles!” Scott called sounded a little frantic.

He dashed into the foyer and all but tackled his best friend in a hug, sending the bags the boy was carrying flying.

“Oh thank God, I was afraid they’d eaten you or something.  It took me a while to realize you’d left your phone.”

Though there was no trace of an accusation in Scott’s voice Stiles felt a surge of guilt.  “Sorry, man.  I’ve been a little…whatever.”  He didn’t have any explanations that wouldn’t end with him breaking down again.  Fortunately, his best friend was a saint and didn’t need any.

“It’s cool.  I brought your stuff,” he said gesturing to bags littering the floor.  “Had lunch with Laura too; she asked a lot of questions about you.”  Scott wasn’t naturally given over to suspicion but appeared to making an exception in light of the whole “werewolves are secretly real” mess.  “I was going to come by sooner but I had to go by the clinic and explain the mess to Deaton.  He wants to see you by the way.”  He looked so apologetic Stiles had to fight back tears as he pulled him into another hug.

“I don’t deserve you,” he mumbled into Scott’s shoulder.

“Well nobody’s perfect.”

Stiles hiccoughed out a little laugh and punched him in the arm manfully.  “So, welcome to the Addams Family Mansion,” he said waving a hand behind him.

“Huh, not what I was expecting.”

“Surprised by the lack of coffins and rattling chains?” Laura drawled coming through the door with his backpack and a box of stuff from his room.

“It’s not so bad,” Stiles said with a shrug, “Although they trick me into eating Bambi stew.”  Scott looked so appalled on his behalf it made his eyes sting all over again.  Maybe he should dig around in the Peter Zone and see he can find an emotion suppressing ritual or something.  “I’m okay.  The even kicked Derek out of his room so I’d have a place to sleep.”

“I bet that went over well,” Scott chortled.

Laura scooped up the bags Scott had dropped, loading herself up so much only super strength made it possible to carry it all.  “Good to know where I’m taking these,” she said with that same wicked gleam in her eye that Cora had when Derek served him lunch.  Oh yeah, he was getting to the bottom of this.

“Listen, dude, Mom wants me home so I can help her out with some stuff.”  Sadly that wasn’t quite vague enough to stop the increasingly familiar sensation of being gutted.  “But we can hang out tomorrow right?”

“Yeesh, put away the puppy dog eyes I’m in, duh.  We’ll go see the Doc in the morning and then marathon CoD cum Star Wars session.”  It was their long established ritual for when life kicked them in the teeth.  At the rate they were going they’d run out of traumas to avoid dealing with.  He shoved _that_ dark thought down before it could spoil his mood.

“Sweet!”

“Okay, man date set,” Laura cooed at them as she came back down the stairs.  “Come on Scotty, the storm’s supposed to roll back in and I need to get you home.”

Scott sighed in reluctance and walked out the door “See you soon, bro!” he called over his shoulder.”

“Can I keep him?” Laura whispered in his ear as she passed.

He couldn’t _say_ anything when Cora could probably hear, so he tried his to speak Hale language instead.  He probably looked epileptic, jerking his head and wiggling his nose and eyebrows, but from the way Laura’s expression flashed through surprise and consideration to arrive at diabolical he figured he got the point across.

“Don’t worry, Stiles, now that you’re staying here we’ll be sure to have your friend over for dinner sometime.”  She said it just a little too loud to be totally convincing but he gave her the thumbs up anyway.  It looked like the Hale-McCall rom-com was on, although something about that thought tickled the back of his mind unpleasantly.

“How are you settling in, Stiles?” Peter asked from behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder and scaring the bejeezus out of him.

“Ack!  Enough with the creeping Uncle Creeperwolf!  Haven’t you already scarred me for life enough for one calendar year?” he asked, indignant.

“While I would like to point out that the New Year begins in ten days, which makes you fair game again soon, the reason I “creeped” by was to help you get started on working through my earlier mistake.”

“Okay I’ll bite.  How?”

“I’ll show you; right this way.  Everything about the man’s face and posture screamed mischief but he had little choice but to follow.  He wanted the intrusion in his psyche out and he also to avoid a repeat of the claws in the neck deal.  As much as he hated to admit it Talia probably had a point.  Once he’d gotten over their less than stellar introduction Stiles-and-Peter would probably make the antics of Stiles-and-Scott.  But for now he was going to snark.

Peter led him to a small library/office behind a locked door off the main hall.  He wasn’t surprised the man kept it shut.  If all the books on the floor to ceiling bookcases that covered three of the walls were occult reference texts Stiles wouldn’t want anyone casually strolling in either.  “Here,” the man said giving him a key.  “This opens the door, please keep it locked at all times whether you’re inside or out.”

“Roger, but how is this supposed to help me?”

Peter gave him a look that said “stop being dense.”  “This is where I did my research, what I tried to pass on to you.  The memories that inadvertently came with it should all be somehow tied to this room or the knowledge I gained here.  If you spend some time retracing my steps it should help separate out the _me_ from the _you_.”

That actually made a lot of sense based what he understood of how associations worked in the brain.  A horrible thought suddenly occurred to him.  “Oh my God,” he groaned, “now I’m _Belle_ from _Beauty and Beast_ , all cloistered up in the castle in the forest taking care of the were-library.  I’ve actually run out of fairy tales to embody and moved on to frickin’ _Disney Princesses!_ ”

“Well then, good luck _your highness_.  Someone will come get you when dinner’s ready.”  For a moment Stiles thought he was going to escape another dose of mockery, but Peter simply waited until there was a locked door between them before cracking up.

“Creeper!” he yelled, but the sound of laughter only escalated.  He turned around to look at the vast collection of tomes.  In one sense it was awe inspiring, a whole world he’d only imagined was literally laid out before him.  On the other hand he was kicking himself bitterly.  He’d wanted a distraction so he could get through the next few days without crawling into a hole and pulling it in after him.  Ask and thou shalt fucking receive apparently.  He closed his eyes and tried to let instinct guide him to a starting point.  When he felt the soft leather spine of a book under his fingers he pulled in off the shelf and settled down into a comfy overstuffed armchair to read it.  It didn’t have a title page but began immediately in a spidery handwritten script.  _“The grimoire I bought of that witch in Tucson,”_ Peter’s voice whispered in his head.  Okay, so maybe this was a _little_ awesome.


	4. Squire Stiles and the Wicked Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The youngest Hales make it hard for Stiles to resist the pull of the crazy family.
> 
> After he puts some things together he realizes the tension between him and Derek and his Parents may not be what he thought.
> 
> Talia is forced to take desperate measures when her scheming inadvertently results in mortal peril and property damage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER STUFF: Kate is mentioned in this chapter, both with regards to the underage thing and her very violent end (which will be revealed in the next chapter).

He had been nervous about his first dinner with the whole Hale clan from the moment he’d accepted Talia’s offer.   Derek’s weirdness over the stew-serving had upped the ante to full on _dread_.  The scent of it gushing from his pores must have been potent enough to be go right through the locked door of the study because when Laura finally came to get him for dinner it was wonderfully messy informal affair.  They’d set up a folding table for the younger children to eat at just off the kitchen where the adults could keep an eye on them while eating from their own plates at the counter.

“So Stiles, how are you enjoying your stay in Hotel Hale so far?” a grinning Laura asked.

He looked up from the enormous plate of salad he was nursing (to balance out the Bambi, which had gotten no small amount of laughs from the carnivores) to see four pairs of eyes staring at him expectantly.  “It’s great.  Thank you for having me.”  In truth if he started in on the adjectives now he might not finish until after desert.

Talia gave him a wry smile. “How very polite of you.  It’s okay if you feel overwhelmed; our family dinners are not for the faint of heart.”

“Which is why we thought you might prefer a more relaxed setting for your first one,” Daniel added.

Oh so _many_ implications and insinuations going on.  All the same he was hugely grateful for avoiding that ginormous table.  Something about seeing the whole family (pack) arranged formally sharing a meal with all their wolfy rituals was too much to handle right now.  Not just because he honestly was still in denial a bit about being in a house full of werewolves, but because there would be no way to escape the thoughts of the much smaller family table he would never sit at again.  “Thanks,” he said simply. 

“Do you need a cheat sheet to remember everyone’s names?” Laura teased.

“No, I got it.”  Talia beamed at him.  Crap.  He’d forgotten he hadn’t actually been introduced to everyone yet.

“So your time in my Brother’s hidey-hole paid off?” she asked with an undercurrent of steel in her voice.  He got the impression she was waiting to see how well he dealt with the situation before she unleashed her fury at Peter.  Maybe there was appoint system, like one compound fracture per episode of possessed behavior.

“I’ve made some progress,” he equivocated.  Truthfully he’d digested more information in one afternoon than at least a year of high school.  At first it was frustrating as he was pulled from book to book by random threads of memory.  It wasn’t until he recalled that Peter had catalogued and indexed the entire collection on his computer (the password popped into his head readily enough) that he really started finding some useful stuff, including a compilation of notes on the memory transfer process from former Alphas. After three hours he had learned to distinguish the discordant timbre of the “Peter” in his mind and release the memories as they surfaced, before they could knock him on his ass.

“Are you sure leaving in him there alone is a good idea?  Unlike Peter he can actually _do_ the things in those books.”  Derek was going to find out how right he was just as soon as Stiles found a spell to turn him into a stink beetle.  From what he gathered so far “real” magic didn’t seem to involve a lot of flash and bang but he was still holding out hope that he’d learn how to use his mind to burn those stupid eyebrows off the man’s scowling face.

“Derek,” his mother chided gently.

“Please forgive my son,” Daniel said apologetically, “He has a show coming up.  I think he might rather chew on wolfsbane than _be recognized for his achievements_.”  Stiles was sure he missing something.

Time to invstigate.  “You know my mother was an art teacher.  I could take a look if you wanted an honest opinion.”  A very, _very_ honest opinon.

Derek raised his chin defiantly against the Significant Looks he was getting from his parents and sister.  “Sure, that would be helpful,” he said like it was all his idea.

“Cool.”  Stiles drifted away so the four werewolves could put their heads together and argue in Hale Speak.  He caught a few things here and there (not wanting to go deep enough into _The Peter Zone_ to translate it fully), but mostly he just got the impression that Derek was being stubborn about something and his family was fed up.  He felt a pang as he considered that the convoluted schemes and exaggerated displays of frustration could be their way of masking deep worry.  It was a familiar tactic for dealing with strong-willed children; Stiles’ own parents had used it on him more than once.  He might have to reevaluate his stance on Derek-baiting.  Later.

Watching the Hale children eat was an excellent distraction, kind of like watching the Brady Bunch and Jaws in split screen.  Talia and Daniels’ three youngest, Billy, Rose, and Lila sat at the folding table with Peter and Samantha’s two oldest, Kevin and Sara, while Damon (Demon) was too busy using Cora as a jungle gym to bother with eating.  Stiles had been surprised to learn how many of the Hales were actually human, not that it seemed to matter much to them.  He couldn’t even tell who was what just by watching them, at least until Billy made the mistake of snatching the last dinner roll away from Lila.  The six year old girl’s fury was unstoppable and her older _werewolf_ brother quickly surrendered under the hail of blows from her tiny human fists, eyes flashing gold as he did.  Cora had stood close by during the fracas watching carefully but hadn’t intervened, letting the kids work it out on their own as long as no one got seriously hurt.  Stiles had thought the Hale House was just a few miles out of the center of town, but that incident more than anything that he’d seen so far reminded him was for all intents and purposes in another world altogether.

“Terrifying aren’t they,” Cora asked walking over to him carrying Demon upside down by his ankles.

“Scott’s kind of like my little brother and he takes a lot of looking after, but nothing quite like this.”

She laughed, a little more than strictly necessary.  “I’ll bet.”

“Hoo-man,” Demon cooed grabbing at one of his knees. 

Stiles put his plate on the counter and nodded to Cora.  “Okay little wolf, up!”  Demon howled in glee as his sister swung him up into the air so he could land on Stiles’ shoulders.  “Ahhh!  Nooo!  What a world?  What a world?” he wailed theatrically while the toddler squealed and drummed on his head with pudgy little hands.   Which okay, _ow_ , but also _cute_.  Before he knew it he was buried in Hale.  At eight years old Kevin and Billy were the heaviest and took it upon themselves to wrap around his legs like octopi weighing him down while Rose and Lila each took an arm.  Stiles made Godzilla noises as he dragged and hauled his way into the living room under Cora’s direction.  The five year old Sara, not to be outdone, made a running leap to hang off his back by grabbing his hood, yet another reason the ridiculous red garment was a mistake.  If had been zipped up all the way it probably would have strangled him.  As it was with the extra rate he barely made it recessed area of the living room floor filled with blankets and cushions before collapsing face down under a ton giggling werewolf.  “Rawr!  Stilezilla has been defeated by the mighty Hale Pack!  Mercy!”

“No!” they cheered bouncing up and down on his prone body.

“Oh well.”

“Children!” Talia called, “If you break him now you can’t play with him later,” she said with the practiced rhythm of an oft used aphorism.  He kids stopped trying to stomp him into pudding and instead just sprawled all over him out of breath.

“Wow, you’re a lot tougher than you look,” Cora observed sounding impressed.

“Wow, you almost just gave someone a compliment without a gun to your head,” he teased.

“And here I was going to let you out of there,” she said drifting out of the room with a smirk.

Stiles sighed in defeat.  “Oh noble Knights of Hale thou hast slain the Stiles Beast.  Pray what tribute need I give thee to earn my freedom?”

“Story!” they all cried.  Except for Sara who loudly declared “Boo boring!” and flounced away.

“And then there were five.  Okay, help me up to the couch and I’ll tell you the tale of Sir Scott and Wicked Lion.”  He found himself heaved on onto the couch before he could blink.  From the way the children immediately crowded around him, shuffling until they were arranged just so he could tell that Story Time was a regular thing around here so had to make it good.  “Once upon a time there was a noble knight named Sir Scott.  He was a good and caring soul and would always help the creatures of the forest.  Even if they were teeeeeny mice or spider’s the size of a _house_!”  The kids gasped and squealed as he made giant spider arms and mimed eating Demon who was sitting in his lap curled up against his chest.  “Soon his fame grew and all the Animals of the Kingdom whether they had one shape or two would come to him when they needed help, and his master’s keep grew prosperous from all the trade they brought with them.”  He dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper and leaned in close.  “But deep in the wilderness there was…A LION!”  They shrieked in terror (excitement) at his attempt at roaring.  “He had lived alone in the forest so long and grown so big that all the other creatures were terrified of him and would run away whenever he came near.  Wandering and sad he came upon a Great House inhabited by a beautiful woman.  Although she had much she was still greedy and coveted the Lion’s freedom and power.  So she tricked him into her home and placed an enchanted collar upon his neck so that he could never escape her.”  For a second he worried if some of things he were saying might be offensive to canine shape shifters, but if they were the children were unaware if their rapt attention was anything to go by.  “But he was far too big and strong for her and broke out one night while she had gone to attend a fancy ball in a distant land.  Though he ran for many days and many nights, the pain of the collar placed around his neck commanded he return to his captor.  The Lion was proud and would not bend, but neither could he bring himself to ask for help.”  Stiles shook his head sadly.  “But in his woeful state he couldn’t hunt for himself and had to haunt human towns scavenging on scraps.  Unfortunately, while he had been huge and imposing before, his wild unkempt appearance now made the people terrified, and they chased him away time and again.”  There were tears of sympathy glistening in rose’s eyes at the Lion’s plight; he had to hurry and come up with a happy ending.  “Then one day he came into the land where Sir Scott dwelled.  One day as the noble knight was riding out he came across the poor Lion.  The beast so starved and miserable he charged Sir Scott with a roar intent on eating him!  But the knight didn’t scream or run, he just looked at the poor creature with pity in his eyes.  The Lion was so moved by his compassion that he did not eat him, but instead followed him back to the keep.  The Master there was a great magician and healer and freed the Lion from his cursed bonds.  When he had fully recovered Sir Scott enlisted the aid of his trusted friend and advisor Squire Stiles with his winged blue carriage, and together they flew the Lion back to wilderness where he was happiest.  But every year after that they would meet again and share a meal to remember the friendship they had made.  The End.”

“Good story,” Rose said sleepily.

“I like Sir Scott the best,” Billy declared.

“Me too,” Stiles agreed.

Lila blew a raspberry at him. “Stupid, the Lion is the hero.”

“I like Squire Stiles the best,” Kevin murmured shyly.

Apparently he had a fan.  “Aww, thank you buddy.”  Kevin practically glowed at him before cracking a huge yawn.  Demon was already out like a light and drooling into Stiles’ hoodie.

“I’ll take him,” Samantha offered.  She and Peter had been giving him some space.  His practice in the study had paid off because when he looked at her all he felt was mortified, and that was 100% Stiles.  He gently lifted the sleeping child so Sam could take him.  “Good night,” she whispered, carrying him over to where Peter waited near the stairs.  Stiles didn’t quite avert his eyes in time to avoid seeing the three of them together like that.

“You smell sad.  You should be happy,” Billy said like Stiles was ignoring something obvious.

“I’m just sleepy.”

“Ah ah ah,” Rose scolded, “Heart goes bwump.”  Great, walking polygraph preschoolers.

“He’s had a long day,” Derek said coming down the hall to the rescue.  “Come on, Mom says if you go to bed without a fuss tonight you get to open a present tomorrow after we finish decorating.”

“Can we say good night first Uncle Derek?” Kevin asked.

“He’s your cousin, not your uncle,” Billy corrected.

“Nuh uh he’s too _old_ , he’s my uncle,” Kevin asserted.

Derek rolled his as eyes at Stiles’ moderately successful attempt to restrain his chuckling.  “Say goodnight to Stiles.”

“Goodnight, Stiles!” they chorused.

“Come on,” Derek said crouching down and allowing them to pile on before bounding down the hall and up the stairs while they cheered.  Stiles was starting to think he’d underestimated the effects of his connection with Peter, the way he was unconsciously acting like…well, a Hale, even without any specific memories guiding him.  A small suspicious voice whispered that maybe it wasn’t an accident; that Peter had deliberately planted Hale Family Feels in his brain to encourage him to grow close to them so they could have access to his as yet undefined talents.  But that voice was drowned out by the sight of Peter with his wife and son in a happy little domestic tableau. 

Stiles skipped saying goodnight to the rest of the Hales and went straight up to his commandeered room.  Someone had unpacked some of his things in an effort to make it more homey for him.  Since the embarrassing Fangs and Hearts paraphernalia had been cleared off the bottom shelf of the bookcase to make room for his school stuff he guessed it was Derek.  Whoever it was had even put his little bonsai to be in the window where it could get some sun.  He’d forgotten to give it a name, forgotten it completely actually.  “Orin,” he muttered aloud, picking up the jar and staring at the toothed leaves.  “Hanging in there, huh buddy?”  He could see the rest of his bags through the open closet door but the idea of digging through them for pajamas was almost physically painful.  Stripping off his hoodie and plaid over shirt he collapsed faced down on the bed.  He managed to keep it silent this time, the comforter soaking up the tears as soon as they fell, but he still had to cry for over an hour before he finally passed out exhausted.  Outside the winter wind howled, lashing against the house with frigid fury, burying his past in white.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

He dreamed of fire.  It was golden yellow with occasional flickers of bright red and blue and clung to him like napalm but it didn’t burn.  Heck, it wasn’t even hot, just way too warm to be comfortable.  Around him black snow fell from a white sky, forming geometric patterns on the ground that kept trying to close around him only to be pushed back by his suit of living flame.  There was nothing around but flat frozen plains as far as he could see but the air was charged with the sense of waiting.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

If he didn’t feel like he was about to melt Stiles might have said it was his most comfortable morning ever.  Right up until he tried to stretch and found he couldn’t move.   Because he was _covered_ in sleeping Hales.  Worse, when he cracked an eye he found the hot, firm surface under his check was not a pillow.  Pillows did not have nipples.  He scoped out the bare chest under him, smooth, pale, and built.  There was no way to see the man’s face but he was hoping it was Derek, if only because he was least mortifying possibility.  A couple more blinks and he could see that they were not alone.  An impossible number of bodies were twisted into a solid mass that completely obscured the comforter underneath.  It was _beyond_ weird, but so so comfortable.

He carefully tried to extract himself from the game of werewolf pickup sticks, hoping to escape the puppy pile and find some coffee before making any snap judgments he might regret later.  Once he’d slowly and laboriously worked his way up to sitting he felt a little better, all that sleepy adorableness made it hard to feel a sense if violation.  At least until he saw Derek laying there with his hands behind his head watching Stiles’ freak out with a blank expression but eyes alight with amusement.  His pale skin was completely devoid of hair.  He had the musculature to pull off the smooth look but it seemed a little incongruous given his ongoing romance with beard stubble.

“When we came upstairs we found all the children in here with you.  Cora stayed because it’s her job to make sure they don’t eat you,” the man whispered in explanation.

“Okay, what about you?” he hissed.

“I wasn’t going to be the only one left out of my own bed?”

It was childish and petulant but Stiles had little choice but to accept the explanation, since he would have done the exact same thing.  “Fine.  I won’t cry bad touch if you help me out of here.”

Cora stirred and made an irritated noise.  “Welcome to the pack, Stiles.  Now go back to sleep.”

“And what if I don’t want to be in the back?” he whined.

“Tough.  The pups have already adopted you and they run faster.  There’s no escape.  Surrender.  And shut up.”  She slipped back into light snoring.

“I’m gonna need the number of a good deprogrammer aren’t I?” he mused.

It was finally too much for Derek, who was shaking the entire bed with silent laughter, causing the kids to groan and growl at the disturbance.  “Might as well get them up now,” the werewolf wheezed softly in between guffaws.  The bastard looked like a marble statue some to life and the rippling of sinew over his torso with each laugh was equal parts mesmerizing and envy-inducing.  “My Dad can hear us and wants to know if you like waffles?”

Stiles wondered if he really had to answer or if they could hear the excited upswing of his heart.  “Chocolate Chip?”

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

After a Hale family breakfast involving a whole lot of snarling and maple syrup (werewolves: _not_ morning people) it was time to fulfill his promise to play art critic.  Derek’s “studio” was in the attic, the _unheated_ attic.  There were easels, paints, brushes, canvases, and numerous paintings in various stages of completion.  And yet, Stiles’ Mom has used the spare room in their house as her studio and when he compared his memory of hers to the werewolf’s, this one just felt like it was missing something.  Much like his artwork, his space gave a distinct impression that man wasn’t really trying.  It was little things.  Like the fact that all the supplies were the high end professional kind, but there were over a dozen different brushes and god knew how many different colors of paint and they all showed _equal_ signs of use.  There was _nothing_ to indicate he had any preferred tools or techniques, not a single artistic idiosyncrasy in sight.  Derek’s process appeared to be picking a brush and a color and doing something with it until he got bored and switched.  For God’s sake it hadn’t even occurred to the man to move his paints downstairs before they froze solid.

“It’s nice.”  Derek’s answering snort said it all.  “I mean it’s a little cold…”

“You promised me honesty, remember?” the man asked drily.

Promises were made to be broken.  Stiles wanted to _live_ after all.  “Quid pro quo then.  I’ll ask you a question about you then I’ll answer a question about your work.”

The werewolf’s usual sardonic scowl was replaced by a thoughtful expression while he made of show of considering the proposal.  “I’ll Bite,” he said with fangy smile.

Stiles rolled his eyes, almost flinching at the Haleness.  “Wow that’s so intimidating,” he deadpanned.  “It’s not like I saw you feral and snarling under a shredding hex or anything.  Why did you start painting?”

“It was an elective in high school.  What’s the worst thing about this one?” Derek asked pointing at a mostly complete abstract composition all in shades of blue and white.

“The subject.  It’s a tree.  When it’s done it will be perfect for an upscale waiting room in a doctor’s office.”  The man looked absurdly pleased with his assessment.  “Why do you shave all your body hair?”

Stiles thought an overly personal question might get a readable reaction but he was not expecting Derek to go blank.  _Completely_ blank.  Like whatever magic had animated the walking werewolf sculpture had expired.  He wasn’t even _breathing_.  “Pass,” he said a beat before Stiles was about to ask someone downstairs if the man had some sort of neurological condition.

“Ooooookay.  Art is an elective freshman year at BHH.  Why did you _keep_ painting?”

“This isn’t going to work,” Derek growled, shouldering past him and dropping through the trapdoor bypassing the ladder altogether.

Stiles wondered what the hell all that was about.  The guy had seemed more than willing to play the game so his closet couldn’t be bursting with skeletons, not least because you needed an actual social life to start building a collection.  Assuming he hadn’t coincidentally stumbled onto the two totally separate things Derek flatly refused to talk, the two were somehow related.  Another strange thing was that even though the werewolf was not one to walk on eggshells he hadn’t mentioned Stiles’ mother once, even though she was art teacher that first taught the man in chosen profession.  Clearly Derek didn’t really _like_ painting so maybe he did it because he had to…

Stiles face-palmed with a groan, kicking himself for his stupidity when he _finally_ got it.  His Mom had been a big believer in the healing power of art and volunteered as a counselor for art therapy at a number of places around town.  Derek must have been one of her patients at some point.  If he was going to place a bet on where psychological trauma and peculiar grooming practices intersected, he’d put his money on a girl every time.  A lot of teenage relationships end badly, but most don’t involve statutory rape and a half-successful murder suicide. 

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Sadly, formulating an apology and running after a werewolf simultaneously was well beyond his coordination.  By the time he made it downstairs he’d fallen twice, the second of which might have broken his neck if his header into the foyer had not been interrupted by someone who could only be Jacob, one of the last two Hale siblings he had yet to meet (assuming no more were magically produced before Alicia returned from her friend’s house).  The eldest of the current generation more closely resembled their father in height and build, taller and leaner than the twins, and was the only one besides Rose to inherit the man’s wavy brown hair instead of Talia’s straight inky black.  Stiles was glad of man’s longer reach as it kept him what would have been a humiliating wipeout at the very least.

“Jacob!  Nice to meet you, I’m…”

“Stiles.  You can let go of me now.”

“Sorry.”  He released his death grip on the newcomer whose nose wrinkled as he tried to parse out some scent.

“Jeez, Der!” Jacob called, “What did you do, strip naked and rub yourself all over him?”

“Half,” Stiles choked out blushing furiously.  It only got worse.  Due to his near death he’d missed the fact that Scott and Deaton had arrived as well and had expressions of worry and amusement trained on him respectively.

“I don’t even want to know,” Scott said shaking his head.

“That’s probably for the best.”  Deaton patted his assistant on the shoulder and addressed Stiles.  “Since the roads are pretty much impassable we hitched a ride with Jacob in his Hummer.”

“So what’s in the bag, Doc?” he asked nodding at the doctor’s valise in the vet’s hand.  “Got a sorting hat in there?  Do I have to guess which card?  What?”

Deaton sighed dejectedly.  “No, Stiles.  I just want to examine you and make sure there’s no lasting effects from either of your first two castings and try and see what I can do to help with ending Peter’s influence.”

“Oh.  Let’s do that then.”

“Perhaps we should do this in the kitchen,” Talia said, sweeping into the foyer in long red skit and billowing white blouse like she’d just walked off the set of Carmen.  The woman had many strengths but subtlety was not among them.  “The tile in there is easiest to clean if this gets messy.”  Case in point.

They followed the Alpha back to where the folding table was still sitting from breakfast, pulling back the heavy chairs to give them a wide area to work with “just in case.”  She had sent most of the family out for Episode Two of Snow Wars, giving him a glare when he muttered “minimum safe distance” under his breath.

“Really, Stiles, it’s just an exam.  You’re going to be fine.”

“You should’ve seen what happened in the ER after he got bitten by that wildcat and had to get rabies shots,” Scott interjected.

“The bedtime story you told the kids?” Derek asked incredulously.

“And here I made you the hero and everything, Scott,” Stiles whined.

“I take it back then,” his ex-best friend amended.   Stiles calmly and manfully allowed himself to be repeatedly jabbed in the gut with giant needles.  He in no way threatened to defibrillate the attending physician.”

“Doc, please tell me it’s possible to magically seal someone’s lips shut?” he asked desperately.

Deaton gave him an arch look.  “With as much time as you spend around my clinic complaining about being there I think you’d be well aware by now if I had that ability.”

“That’s fair.”

“Anyway.  Let’s get to it.”

Scott watched closely while Deaton examined Stiles, looking in his eyes and mouth, testing his reflexes, and asking him questions to make sure he was properly oriented and alert.  The first surprise came when he asked to see the claw marks on the back of Stiles’ neck.

“They appear to have healed completely.  Interesting.”

That wasn’t the word he would have chosen.  He shot Talia a panicked look but she shook her head in negation.  At least he hadn’t been stealth turned into a werewolf.

“Tell me about the magic you’ve done so far.”

Stiles had actually been thinking about how to describe this since it happened but hadn’t been able to come up with much.  “It all comes from Peter’s head or whatever.  Both times I was freaking out and something just… _connected_.  I didn’t really do it on purpose.  I mean, the first time I _wanted_ to do it to help Derek,” the man flashed a small smile his way, “the second time I was just _wishing_ ; I was really, _really_ wanted to disappear and…”  He waved his arms in a vaguely mystical gesture.

“I see.  Still, you obviously have some innate talent.  Before you make any…decisions about your future I would like to get an idea of your eventual potential.”

As far as Stiles knew Scott didn’t know about “The Bite” and would most definitely blow a gasket if it came out he’d already asked Talia and didn’t even tell him.  While he was grateful that Deaton was vague on his behalf he would also _love_ to know what the hell he was trying to say.  Was using magic and getting the Bite together like mixing medications?  Or was he suggesting that maybe the former would be preferable to the latter.  “Sure thing, Doc.” He said before the round and round in his head started making him dizzy.

“Okay.  I will need to take some blood,” the vet said holding up a lancet.  It seemed dizzy was in the cards one way or another.  “Don’t worry, that goes in last.”

He , Scott, Derek, and Talia all crowded around to watch while Deaton mixed a number of herbs and powders in mortal and pestle while muttering under his breath.  Snatches of Peter-knowledge flitted through his mind while he watched.  _Pure white sand to serve as a base.  Mistletoe to reveal what is hidden.  Artemisia to free latent energies.  Saltpeter to ensure a quick burn_.  Burn!?  “Uh, Doc?  Aren’t you like two thirds of the way into making black powder?”

“Actually yes.  But unless you were planning on adding a sulfur-based reducing agent it won’t have the same explosive power.  We do want a quick, bright flame, however.  It’s time for the blood.”  Stiles clenched his eyes shut and held out his hand.  He could hear Derek chuckling flowed by the smack of Talia hitting him on the back of the head.  He was so nervous he didn’t even feel the lancet prick his finger.  “All done, you can open your eyes.”

Stiles looked down in time to see Deaton finish grinding the blood into the mixture and scrape it into a shallow earthenware bowl.  He took a few very large steps backward.  “So what is this like a scale from one to five?  My rank is the number of people immolated by the test?”

The vet looked like he was considering a career change.  “When I light the mixture the size, color, and intensity of the flame will give me some insight into exactly how of much of what kind of power you possess.

“Should we do a countdown or something?”

“Relax, Stiles,” Scott said leaning in for a better look as Deaton lit a match and dropped it into the bowl.

Someday if he lived long enough Stiles might get tired of being right.  This was not that day.  A coruscating ball of cerulean fire mushroomed up from the bowl, which shattered from the sudden bloom of heat in the cool air of the kitchen.  Poor Deaton looked a lot less wise and mysterious with his eyebrows and facial hair reduced to thin wisps of smoke rising from his skin.  If he’d had the time he would have loved a picture of the man’s shocked face.

Scott’s reaction was significantly less amusing.  Oh sure, his panicked flail was Stiles-worthy and all but on that slick oh so easy to clean tile, even a little snowmelt could make the footing treacherous.  The boy’s feet flew out from under him with a screech of rubber on porcelain, which _was_ funny, right up until the back of his head connected with the corner of a chair with a loud, wet, _thunk_. 

Stiles stared in stunned denial as scarlet quickly pooled under his best friend’s unmoving head.  “Scott!”

Somewhere Deaton was yelling to get him out of there but the strong arms that wrapped around him to try and haul him back couldn’t hold him, especially not after he dislocated Derek’s shoulder with his frenzied struggles.  The werewolf didn’t seem to grasp the concept of “get the fuck off” so he backhanded him with as much force as could muster.  He threw himself down on the floor at Scott’s side without waiting to see how hard he’d actually hit Derek but he heard wood splintering somewhere behind him.

He raised his hands over Scott’s body to do…something when Deaton got in his face next.  “Stiles you have to stop!  You can’t help him like this.  Calm down and let Talia take of him, okay?”

The Alpha knelt next to him and took his hands in hers.  “You’ll help him?” he asked, tears streaming down his face.

She nodded solemnly.  “I promise.”  Her eyes glowed ruby red as she shifted into Beta form, and suddenly he was moving very quickly.  In the split second it took him to figure out he was flying backwards he’d already gone through wood and glass doors that led to the back porch like a human wrecking ball to land in the snow a good fifty feet away from the house.  The bitter cold mixed with searing pain and Stiles didn’t even bother trying to hold them back.  This time it was what he fucking deserved; Scott was either dead or a wolf and it was Stiles’ fault.  He closed his eyes and let the blackness swallow him as thunder crackled overhead.


	5. Falling Snow and Rising Alpha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets in touch with his feelings, amongst other things.
> 
> The Hales take sides in the aftermath of Scott and Stiles' injuries.
> 
> Team Stiles fortifies the Stilinski house against a more literal storm.

He was back in that reverse dichromatic dreamscape, but this time he wasn’t alone.

“Goodie!  You’re finally here.  I’ve been alone for so long.”  A small figure pouted up at him with puppy dog eyes.  It would have been forlornly adorable if the child’s eyes hadn’t been solid orbs of lusterless black.  Creepier still were the tatty old red sneakers, the worn jeans, and faded red hoodie.  Stiles knew those clothes.  In fact he knew exactly who the little boy was.

Because it was _him_.

“Yeah, no,” he said backing away slowly.  “This is all way too Kubrickian.  I’m really not up for a chat with my inner demon-child right now.”

Demon!Stiles sighed.  “Fine.  Since when did we stop appreciating classic horror?”

“Me.  You. Not talking.”  He turned and tried to walk away to…wherever, but his alter ego appeared in front of him with a pop.  “Argh!  You’re a persistent little pest aren’t you?” he growled in frustration.

“Duh jackass, I’m you.  And what’s up with the growling?”

He rubbed his eyes tiredly.  “I’ve been spending too much time with the Hales.”

“On that point we agree.”  Demon!Stiles’ face darkened with rage.

“Okay, this has been fun but I think I’ll wake up now and you can go back to looking for the Blue Fairy to turn you into a real boy.”

It gave him a flat look.  “I _am_ a real boy, moron.  I’m you, try and keep up.”

“Really?  ‘Cause I don’t remember being this much of an asshole when I was your age.”

“Hey!  It’s your fault I look like this.”

This was taking blaming oneself to a new and disturbing level.  “How’s that?”

“You’ve been doing some serious repressing dude.  Why else would be have schizoid dream chats with your own subconscious?”  There wasn’t really much he could say to that.  Sensing victory Demon!Stiles went on.  “Since you got your stupid ass thrown through a wall by an Alpha werewolf with highly questionable intentions, we are going to work out some issues while we recover.”

“Recover?  Wait, just how bad was I hurt?”  He hadn’t been awake long after landing in the snow to take stock but he was going guess bad.

“You were _thrown_ through a _wall_ by an Alpha _werewolf_ ,” Demon!Stiles enunciated slowly.

“It was really more of a door,” he mumbled.  “How exactly am I supposed to “recover” from that?”

“We recently learned a lot remember?  Thanks for shoving that mess down for me to deal with, by the way; it’s been fun.”  Stiles shied away at the very idea of using more hocus pocus after what had just happened.  “And don’t use Scott as an excuse; that was Deaton’s fuck up.  Besides, Scott’s going be awesome as a werewolf.”

“That doesn’t make it okay!” he snarled.

“No, it doesn’t.  But we will be there to help him through this.  We know what it’s like to bleed from wounds that never heal.  Thanks to us Scott now has a chance to feel strong, to take control of his life and finally work past that shitstorm with his Dad.”

That was…valid…ish.  He nodded reluctantly.

Demon!Stiles beamed back at him.  “Moving on, let’s talk about Derek and your less than platonic feelings for him.”

He shrugged.  “The guy’s stacked, what’s there to talk about.”

“Oh I don’t know, how about the fact you’re keeping me nine years old while you pine over Lydia from afar like the goofy sidekick in a fucking teen movie.”

“That’s not…I…huh?”  This was straying into weird territory.  “Lydia is perfect?”

“True,” it conceded, “but totally wrong for us, unattainable, _safe_.  All I’m saying is you’ve got two hundred pounds of hot werewolf sleeping willing to share a bed with us that is even more fucked up than we are and will never, ever take advantage given his history.  Consider allowing us some vulnerability for change.  Besides, werewolf stamina is probably _amazing_ ,” Demon!Stiles said with a leer.

“ _Ew_!  Stop that!  You’re in like, _third grade_ , that is so _wrong_!”

“This is your mind, perv,” it countered, shrugging.  “You saved the guy’s life at huge risk to your own, opening yourself up to forces you couldn’t hope to control.  That is _significant_ , and about as good a beginning for a love story as you could ask for.”

“I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself, ourselves, whatever.  I don’t think he even _likes_ me.”

“Give it some time, and maybe a little actual _effort_.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” he replied drily.  “Anything else?”

“Just one more thing.”  Demon!Stiles held up his father’s service piece, metal gleaming dully in strange light of the frozen plain.  That gun wasn’t a weapon to Stiles so much as a touchstone, the object on which projected both his fear ad hope every time he saw Dad buckle it on head out to deal with god knew what kinds of danger.  “This is the last piece of the puzzle.  We’ve thrown ourselves into danger, taken care of people when they needed it, searched out every bit knowledge we could to help them, and never gave up our innocence despite everything we’ve been through.”  Tears were streaming down out of those lightless eyes.  When the apparition spoke again it was in a voice thick with pain.  “But Dad is _gone_.  This town is our responsibility now that we know what’s really out there in the dark.  Someone has to be willing to pull the trigger, to do what needs to be done, and the Hales have proven it’s not them.  It’s time for us to grow up.”

As Stiles accepted the gun his demon-child self became hazy, form shifting and blurring until he was face to face with his mirror image, warm whiskey eyes looking right back at him.  His double smiled at him for a moment before dissolving into wisps of blue-white light.

The ground began to shake violently, the angular crystals of black ice flowing into toothed ramparts around him.  Stiles watched as a massive citadel grew before his eyes in the space of a few seconds.  Red lightning flashed in the white sky as a wolf howled furiously but here he was safe.

The bizarre landscape faded into more mundane dreams.  Outside, the beast was still prowling but it didn’t concern him.  He slept on, certain and secure.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

Stiles opened his eyes to the familiar sights of his old bedroom and for a second he imagined that the last few days had just been a really vivid nightmare.  Derek shattered that wonderful illusion but quick, the jerk.

“Stiles!  Jesus, are you okay?”  The werewolf sounded slightly crazed.  Once Stiles had blinked the sleep out of his eyes the man’s disheveled hair and glowing neon blue eyes did nothing to make him look any less unhinged.

“What happened?” he asked, sitting up with a groan.  He felt stiff but otherwise quite energetic. It must be all the extra time he was spending knocked unconscious lately.  If he wasn’t careful he was going to have to learn an English accent and change his name to Rupert.  It would be a long step up from his own name in any event.

Derek looked wrecked, like he was expecting him to demand his head and was all too willing to face the guillotine.  “Mother she…I thought you were _dead_.”

“I’m fine.  Wait, are you okay?  How’s your shoulder?  Holy fuck, Scott!  Is he alive!?  Did Talia Bite him!?  Is he a werewolf now!?”  At some point during his screeching he’d grabbed Derek’s arms and was digging his hands into the biceps so hard the werewolf was wincing.  “Sorry!” he wailed releasing him.

“Stiles, calm down!” the man screamed right back getting up close in his face.  For a moment they stared at one another in silence before they broke out in hysterical laughter.  “Scott’s fine,” Derek said after they’d wound down a bit.  “The Bite took just fine.”

“Where is he?”  Stiles jumped off the bed and started spinning around as if Scott might be lurking behind the door waiting to jump out and yell “surprise!”

“He went with Cora to get provisions; they should be back any minute.”

“Provisions?  For what?”  A deafening crack of thunder answered his question.  “This isn’t a natural storm is it?”

Derek shook his head.  “It wasn’t until after Deaton’s little test blew up in his face that he put the pieces together.”

“Pieces.  Of. _What!?_ ”

“It was the fairies.  They were Winter Sidhe.  Summoning a blizzard is standard battle tactic for them when they want to capture a territory from another supernatural power, but we thought the storm would dissipate after we killed them.”

“But it grew stronger instead?”  Stiles could have sworn he could feel the temperature dropping as he stood there.  The heater in the house was electric and with the way the wind was rising there wasn’t a prayer of the power staying on much longer.  “At least I’ve got my own werewolf space heaters to keep me from freeing.”

“Stiles this is serious.  Deaton thinks something went wrong sideways with the spell the Sidhe were using when you broke the Queen’s curse.  Their magic, Peter’s connection, and your own spark of power got…tangled up or something.”  The guy looked totally lost.  Stiles sympathized.

But now that he had accepted the knowledge he’d gotten from Peter and stripped away the memories it was easy to call up the necessary information.  “A backlash.  The destabilized spell reverberated through the pack’s bonds and through me thanks to Peter.”  Derek stared at him like he’d grown another head.  “Memory transfer, remember?”

“I thought you couldn’t control it?”

“I put my head together with myself and worked it out.”

“Okay…”

Stiles fell silent for a moment as he ran through what he needed to do on his end.  “Deaton still at your place?”  Derek nodded watching Stiles like he was an escaped mental patient that might snap at any moment.  It was getting old.  “Seriously, Der, I’m fine.  But I need to raise an effect ward over the house to cut myself off from the rest of the back to break the feedback loop.  By the way, _why_ exactly are we in my house?”

“Later.”

He gave the man a level look but nodded.  “Okay.  As for the ward…”

“Done.”

“What?  When?  Who?” Stiles screeched.  He didn’t like the idea of Deaton working his unreliable mojo on him while he slept.

“Which would like me answer first?” Derek asked, his unease finally fading into comfortingly familiar snark.

Stiles gave him his best wolfy snarl, netting himself the brightest smile he’d ever seen on the man’s face.  Stupid insightful inner demon-child.

“You did it in your sleep.  After I brought you here to heal, I want to know how you did that by the way, Mother came to bring us back before the storm hit.  When she tried to set foot on the property your eyes opened for a second.  They were _glowing_.  She got thrown clear across the street.”

He couldn’t help the small vindictive smile of pleasure at the thought of Talia’s regal deportment being flung unceremoniously into a snow drift.  “I’m probably going to pay for that later, huh?”

“It’s remotely possible,” Derek allowed sarcastically.

“As for the how…I can really only guess.  It turns out that whole hoodoo library was mostly full of _theory_ and not a lot of actual records.  But there’s like…a shit ton of unfocused magical energy flying around right now.  My subconscious mind probably tapped into it to heal me while I was out.”  It was a wild guess, and from the arch look on Derek’s face Stiles’ attempt at sounding authoritative fell a bit short of the mark.

“Uh huh.”  The werewolf tilted his head to side as some sound caught his ear.  “They’re back, and they’ve got firewood.  Do you have any warmer clothes?  I brought your stuff back with us but I didn’t unpack anything; it’s all downstairs.”

“Yeah.”  He pushed past Derek to get to his closet.  “I just need to find my heavy coat before…”

The power went out.

“Balls!” Stiles growled while the werewolf chuckled, eyes glowing eerily in the sudden darkness.  He heard the door slam open downstairs, Scott distressed shout of “Stiles!” nearly lost in the screaming wind that came in with him.  “Up here dude,” he called, accepting the parka Derek had dutifully retrieved from the closet.  “Good boy,” he crooned as heavy footfalls pounded up the stairs.

A Scott-sized blur slammed into him but rebounded to slam back against the desk instead of taking him down into the closet in a heap.  “Dude!” the new wolf yelled.

“Dude!” he imitated weakly.

“Are you okay!?  How did you _do_ that!?  So Derek didn’t kill you!?”

Stiles leaned back from the onslaught.  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, chill.  I’m fine.   I don’t know, magic?  And why would Derek kill me?”

Scott glared at the older man suspiciously, or so Stiles guessed from the amber glow pointing more or less in the direction of the blue glow.  “Uh, maybe because you dislocated his shoulder, broke his jaw, and cracked his spine in _three places_?”

Well, someone had been leaving things out.  Over-sharing seemed like an appropriate vehicle for revenge.  “Nah, that’s just werewolf foreplay.  Derek wouldn’t risk this fine ass,” he said with a demonstrative slap to his own backside.  The blue glow narrowed until it was bare slits.

“Wrong…so…wrong,” Scott sputtered.

“Why so judgey?” he asked in mock offense.  “Be nice or no smores for you.”  Stiles could almost _hear_ Scott’s tail wag.  “Come on, let’s get the fire going before I freeze solid, and _then_ we can make them while the three of you fill me in on what the hell happened while I was out.”

 

 

 

It was probably the first time the fireplace had ever been used.  If it hadn’t been for the Hales and their more rustic upbringing Stiles would probably have died of smoke inhalation before he figured out the flue.  After that all it took was a little creative pyromania to get the wettish wood going, although Derek nearly ended up joining Deaton in the Eyebrow-Free Club.  It would have been like taking away half of the man’s ability to emote (Stiles got a perfect demonstration when he expressed that sentiment aloud).

Cora and Scott had barely made it to the store in Stiles’ jeep before it closed and in their haste had only thought to grab campfire foods, so until the storm broke they were stuck with hot dogs, smores, and processed cheese slices.  With the way the werewolves were putting it away they might escape starvation for a whole twenty-four hours.  Scott suggested that Derek be the first to be eaten since he had the most meat on his bones.  The older man countered with Scott, saying he was youngest and therefore tenderest.  Stiles flatly refused to agree to eating either of them on the grounds that he preferred his werewolf free-range organic and not tainted by all the chemicals in the diet of the typical American shape shifter.  Cora abstained from the debate, instead constructing a makeshift apparatus for preparing coffee in the fireplace out of old metal tools she unearthed in the Stilinski garage (she had a monstrous addiction to the stuff despite the fact that caffeine had no effect on werewolves).

Once they were warm and sated (for now) Stiles got down to the important questions.  “So what happened after I took my little tumble into the backyard?”

Cora shuddered.  “It was…memorable.”

He swallowed nervously.  “On a scale of one to ten how mad is Talia?”

“Thirty-seven,” she answered in squeaky voice.

“Great.”

“I would like to point out that I was unconscious too and not responsible for my actions at the time,” Scott declared.

“What actions, pray tell, would those be?” he asked sweetly.

“He broke a chair over head,” Derek answered.

Stiles sprayed his soon to be dead best friend in the French Roast he was drinking.  “What!?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Scott protested.  “I woke up and she was standing over me all wolfed out and snarling, I had a huge bite mark on my side, and I saw Derek holding you all bloody and snowy and broken-looking.  They were growling and screaming at each other and there were all these wolf-children crying and when I saw her take a step towards you…”

Stiles lunged over and gave him a hug (he had directed Derek onto the couch with him so Scott would be forced to claim the love seat, strategically closer to Cora as she tended the fire) .  “Thanks for having my back, man.”  If there was a list somewhere of _Greatest Demonstrations of Eternal Friendship_ , “suicidal rescue from enraged Alpha werewolf” would definitely be in the top ten.

“To be fair I may have been scared and over-reacting,” Scott wheezed.  Derek snorted and shook his head.  “Wow,” Scott said when he’d let him go, “I thought I was the one who supposed to have super strength.”

“Stiles is tapped into the mystic ether apparently,” Derek muttered,

Stiles would have snapped something back at him, possibly something about “tapping” something less magicky and more _dirty_ (flirting for the incurably sarcastic), but he was starting to agree.  Behind the ward he should be cut off from energy the storm entirely.  Besides, Derek actually sounded _worried_ for him and he didn’t want to upset that trend.  “It’s something to look into later.”  He knew exactly what book he needed too.  The text was in French but the title translated to _Rites of the Dark Oak_.  Peter hadn’t bothered retaining the portions pertaining strictly to magic users, more interested in some of the werewolf specific rituals.  Nasty stuff.  The weird thing was he couldn’t remember anything about the _physical book_ itself, not where it was or where Peter first purchased it, nothing.  He figured that was probably a bad sign.  “Anyway, what happened next.”

“I wish I had thought to record it,” Cora moaned desolately.  “Derek ran out through the hole in the house after you even though his legs weren’t moving right.  When he came back in with you draped over his arms all Wolf Kong and Stiles Wray mom told him to give you to her and he _roared_ at her.”  She sounded positively gleeful at her older brother’s transgression.  Derek for his part looked like he was trying to sink down straight through the couch out of mortification.  “Mom went full Alpha on him and he didn’t even flinch!  Then Scott wakes up and immediately sides with him instead of her and declares his allegiance with a chair!”  She paused in her recounting to howl with laughter.

“I don’t have _allegiance_ ,” Scott grumbled, “I have _Stiles_.”

“I _know_ , it’s so _sweet_.  Baby Beta’s anchor is his brother from another mother!”  Scott crossed his arms indignantly while she slipped into another peal of laughter.  The girl was digging herself a bit of hole.  “We always thought Laura would be the next Alpha but when Derek snapped at her to go get your stuff because you were taking him home she _scampered_.  Mom looked like she was going to have a stroke from being so proud and so furious at the same time.  Derek never stands up to anyone and _nobody_ stands up to _her_ like that.”

This was all more than mildly alarming.  “Dude what were you _thinking_!?”

“I wasn’t,” the man growled, “You had just backhanded me _through_ the kitchen counter.  Clearly I had head trauma.”

Stiles winced at the memory of the righteous fury that had possessed him when he thought Scott was dying.  “Sorry about that.”

Derek shrugged as if to say “it happens”, which was probably true in wolf-world, but still strange for him.

Cora looked miffed at their sidebar and cleared her throat obnoxiously.  “So, the others run in and everyone’s freaking out so Dad, Jake, and Uncle Peter hold Mom back while Derek just walks out calm as you please.  We got everything loaded up in the hummer and took off.”

It was all more than a little mortifying.  “Are the kids okay?  I hope I didn’t freak them out too bad.”

“You might have to tell them stories every night for a couple of weeks to earn their forgiveness, Kevin especially.  At least the hole in the back of the house will let your fear and blood smell dissipate quickly.”

“Oh my God the house!  There’s a hole in it in this weather!  Shit, are they going to be okay!?”  Stiles was horrified at himself for endangering the kids like that.

Derek gripped the back of his neck in what was probably supposed to be a comforting gesture.  “Relax, Stiles.  They’ll be fine.  If worst comes to worst they’ll all pile on the bed in my parents’ room.  With that many wolves the cold won’t be a problem.”

Cora grinned wickedly.  “Imagine mysterious Doctor Deaton having to snuggle for body warmth.  I can just see that constipated look on his face.  Too bad I don’t get to see it for myself,” she sighed wistfully.

That reminded him about something that had been bugging him throughout Cora’s story.  “Hey, why did _you_ come?  I mean, you’re probably going to get in a lot of trouble for defying your Alpha-Mom, right?”

She gave him a patient look.  “I told you, we’re pack,” she said, like it was that simple and hell, maybe it was.

“So wait, does this mean Derek’s our Alpha now, because he walked out when she told him not to?” Scott asked confused.

“ _Scott_ ,” the maybe-Alpha whined, like the idea was too nightmarish to really consider.

Cora snickered.  “It doesn’t really work that way.  But if he defies Mom a third time in front of the pack he might actually Rise.”  She didn’t seem to mind the idea but Derek paled a bit.

“What do you mean “Rise”?” Stiles asked curiously a beat before his brain supplied the information automatically.  New Alphas could come about through voluntary succession, combat, when an established pack grew too large, or even spontaneously, although the last was exceedingly rare.  Derek was a mature unattached male still living in his parent’s den.  In such a situation where the Alpha pair had so many young offspring it wouldn’t be unheard of for the eldest children to split off and form a scion pack after reaching adulthood.  “Never mind, I got it now.  Hold on, what do you mean _second time_?”

“Oh!  Can I tell this one?” Scott asked bouncing like a puppy.  Stiles contained the avalanche of dog jokes, barely.  It was best to ease into the whole species-transition humor.  Derek groaned some more, embarrassed by all the enthusiasm.

“Floor’s yours, Scott,” Cora replied scooting closer so she could look up at him adoringly while he spoke.  Oh yeah, someone had it bad.  Now that Scott was a werewolf too she had no reason to hold back.  _That_ was definitely going to be something worth watching.

“Okay, so it was like something from an old Western movie, or maybe _Lord of the Rings_.”  The mop of unruly brown hair flopped around as Scott shook his head at the metaphor mixing.  “Anyway, me, Cora, and Laura were standing on the porch with Derek and Mr. Hale, Peter, and Jacob were on the other side of the street with Mrs. Hale.  She and Derek met at the end of the driveway like they were going to have a duel or something and there was all this lightning and big black snow clouds; it was super intense.”  Stiles could picture it clearly and it wasn’t nearly as funny as he thought it would be from Scott’s Spaghetti Fantasy comparison.  “She tells him to bring you back, that you might be his emissary one day but right now you were dangerous and he wasn’t ready for the role he trying to take on.  She meant being an Alpha, right?  And what’s an emissary?”

“That would take some explaining,” Stiles said, given that he himself only had a fragmented understanding of what an emissary was and did. 

“Oh.  So then Derek was all like no, you’re sixteen and she can’t take advantage of you like that, how she almost killed you and stuff.  He actually looked kind of scary when he said that.  Not his usual scowling juice-monkey scary either, like _werewolf_ scary.  I guess it’s instinct?” 

“ _Juice-monkey_?” Derek asked with a snarl of disbelief.

“Off topic,” Stiles warned in a sing-song voice.

Scott wilted under the weight of the older werewolf’s angry stare.  There was definitely some Alpha-ing going on, or at least Dominant Beta-ing.  “So yeah, Derek said this was your place and she wasn’t allowed without your permission.  He stood his ground but she tried to step past him and that’s when BOOM!  She got magically bitch slapped back across the street and right into the others.  It was like bowling for werewolves,” he said with a laugh.  “Derek flipped out and ran back inside to check on you and your eyes were open and glowing bluish-white, so freaky, but as soon as we all got in the room with you they closed and you rolled over and started snoring.”

“Which was just precious, by the way,” Cora added.

Derek finally reached his limit.  “Enough.  You two are enjoying this way too much.  None of it is funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” Scott whispered.

“Scott,” Stiles barked.  He gave his friend Significant Eyes hoping he’d take the hint and back off a bit.  There was going to have to a reckoning with Talia.  She had maneuvered him into Derek’s space in the hope of getting the man to open up and in the process forced her own son to watch as she practically recreated the trauma that made him shut down in the first place.  Stiles was also so not okay with being used as a set piece in her little family drama.  He thought back on his dream encounter with his formerly black-eyed alter ego.  This time he wasn’t going to take on guilt that wasn’t his.  From the way Derek was still absently massaging the back of his neck it was obvious the guy was in serious need of simple, honest affection.  

“Well if we’re done with story time…” Cora piped up looking mischievous.

Her brother narrowed his eyes in suspicion.   “What did you do?”

“Oh nothing.  I just brought a little something to help pass the time while we wait…” she trailed off at the sound of a wolf howling.  It was _loud_ , so loud it had to have been right outside.

Stiles heart rate doubled in the space of a second.  “Is that..?”

“Laura,” Derek reassured him.

He let out a sigh of relief while Cora snatched a spare blanket and skipped over to the front door, opening it to reveal an absolutely massive black wolf that trotted in amid a blast of snow and screaming wind.  After slamming the door closed before all the warmth could escape out into the storm she help up the blanket with a flourish like a magician’s assistant before whipping in a circle around the shoulder of her suddenly human, and very naked sister.  “Ta da!”

“I-Is t-that-t c-coff-ffee-e I ss-me-ell?” Laura asked through chattering teeth.  Even her natural heat and a shaggy coat hadn’t been proof against the fury of the unnatural blizzard.

 

 

She warmed up quick enough once they gotten her dressed and settled by the fire with a mug of Cora’s MacGyvered brew.  “We heard on the emergency radio that the Governor called in the National Guard.  They’re calling it the two hundred year blizzard, the worst snowstorm since they started keeping official records.  Fucking fairies.”

“Is everyone okay back at the house?” Stiles asked.  When he’d returned to his spot on the couch after helping get Laura situated in the comfy armchair by the hearth he’d situated himself much closer to Derek, close enough to throw the comforter from his bed over the both of them.

She sighed expressively.  “Mom’s pissed but she’s calmed down.  It helps that they’ve basically gone into hibernation.  Things got a little interesting when they lit the fireplace in the master bedroom and found that something had been living in the chimney.  I was glad to have an excuse to escape the smell, even it meant running here in my fur.”  From the look on her face Stiles suspected the run was reason enough for her to come; she was practically vibrating with the thrill of getting to run around town in wolf shape.

“She’s not going to…punish Derek is she?” he asked nervously.  The werewolf’s arm snaked its way around his shoulder in a half hug.

“I’m sure he’ll live,” she replied drily.

“That’s comforting.”

“Didn’t you say you had something special, Cora?” Scott asked.

“Right!” She jumped up and ran out of the room, returning a few seconds later with a guitar case.  “Campfire songs!”

Stiles bit his tongue, making it almost all the way through the tuning process without making a single joke.  But even if Derek hadn’t been able to see how red his face was despite the dark he could definitely feel his silent shaking.  “Oh for God’s sake, Stiles!” the man cried.  “Fine, you get two.”

He leaned into the man in a wolfy shoulder check before rattling off his favorites.  “So tell me, do all the Hales have to join the _Cub_ Scouts?  Was your tribe in the Y Indian Guides the _Wolf Cherokee_?”

“You’re hilarious,” Cora deadpanned.  “No seriously, I’ll accompany you; you’ll be the next Stephen Lynch.”  The Sahara had nothing on her tone, but the corners of her mouth were twitching in a suppressed grin.

“The next who?” Scott asked confused.

Stiles and Cora both looked at him aghast.  “Sometimes I wonder how we’re best friends.  Don’t worry, Der, assuming this ice age is temporary I’ll soon educate you in the wonders of lyric comedy.”

“I’ve heard his music, Stiles.  Werewolves, remember?  If one of us listens to something _all_ of us do.”

“But do you _like_ him?  The fate of our friendship depends on your answer.”  He waited with baited breath watching the shifting firelit shadows dance around hypnotically through the man’s stubble.

“I like “D&D”.”

Stiles and Cora clapped and howled.  “I assume you know the chords?” he asked as he shuffled a little closer to Derek.  While his advice to himself about the werewolf wasn’t exactly forgotten it wasn’t at the forefront of his mind either.  The strange sense of _closeness_ he was developing wasn’t the least bit romantic.  If he had to guess he’d say it was _pack_.  It was more than enough for him, far more than he’d expected to feel so soon after losing his Dad.

“Bite your tongue,” she retorted.

“Can you sing, Stiles?” Laura asked.

Scott laughed out loud at the question.  “Oh he _can_ , the question is whether or not he _should_.”

“Everyone’s a critic.”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Cora said strumming the opening chords “Special”, perching herself on the arm of the loveseat, practically on top of Scott who _finally_ seemed to be picking up on her outrageously obvious flirting.

“Bring it,” Stiles challenged.  He knew he was probably about the make the shrill wind outside sound downright melodious by comparison, but even so he felt no self-consciousness belting out the lyrics even when the others winced in pain.  They were his pack after all.


	6. A Profile of a Cereal Killer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek POV
> 
> The would be Alpha tries to figure out where to go from here while helping Stiles get a handle on his erratic powers.
> 
> After eavesdropping on a very interesting conversation he has it out with his Mother and Deaton.

Why, out of all the people under the Moon, did it have to be _Stiles Stilinski_?  The boy was a fibrillating terror, a walking catastrophe waiting to happen, and worst of all seemed to have a sixth sense for finding Derek’s vulnerable spots.  Maybe it was being raised by a cop, or a result of the considerable magical talent he was developing, but the keen awareness in his eyes was like being x-rayed.  Talia had chosen well.  Angry as he was at her Machiavellian tactics for forcing him to open he could hardly blame her.  His family was worried sick about him, had been for years.  He was twenty-five, had no friends, hadn’t dated or had so much as a one night stand in eight years, and spoke to someone outside his immediate family maybe twice a month.  Hell, he was bending over backwards to maintain a fake career because he couldn’t talk about his real job or the ridiculous sums of money that sat untouched in his accounts and investments.  Truthfully he was lucky his mother was also his Alpha; a little forced scent mixing and meal sharing were far gentler methods than he could have expected from any other.  It was rare for packs to be composed entirely of a single family these days, and if he’d been in a typical pack like Kali or Ennis had banishment and Omega status would likely be the least unpleasant they’d do to a pathological withdrawn and recalcitrant Beta.  Far easier to wash their hands of him and find someone less difficult to turn and replace him with.

Of course there was a certain amount of pleasure to be had in how magnificently his mother’s scheme had backfired.  Stiles had burrowed into his way into Derek’s skin like a chigger almost overnight and when he saw her attack him the vehemence of his reaction had shocked everyone, himself included.  Maybe he shouldn’t have been so surprised.  After all, he had been openly defying her for a long time; challenging her was really just a short step from there.  But taking his sisters, Scott, and Stiles and walking out was about as serious a transgression as a Beta could make, assuming he was going to remain one.  Already he could feel his connection with his mother waning even as he became more and more aware of Cora, Laura, and Scott.  Four werewolves and a Stiles was barely a pack but the spark was already there and growing brighter.  He was acting like an Alpha and if he didn’t find a way to reconcile with his mother soon he could find himself _becoming_ one.  It was incredibly rare for it happen like that in this day and age, but he was from an ancient bloodline and his extended pack-family measured in the dozens.  Power flowed in his veins and given the chance it would gladly run wild.  He didn’t _want_ to be an Alpha; he could barely even manage to take care of himself after all.  Unfortunately, there was no way he could go back now tail between his legs.  The only question was if he could persuade his sisters to leave him behind.  He didn’t want to tear his family apart and he would have enough of a pack with Scott and Stiles to keep from becoming Omega and going feral while still avoiding taking on a role his mother had been justified in saying he wasn’t ready for.

All night he mulled it over, creating and discarding possible plans, but by dawn he still had nothing.  The storm had died down around four in the morning and once he no longer had the screaming wind to focus on he listened to sounds of the trucks laboring in the distance as they tried to clear the main roads enough for people to move about.  Beacon Hills really hadn’t been prepared for a blizzard of such magnitude.  The most critical patients from the hospital and the majority of the residents in the retirement homes had been evacuated during the clear hours the day before, but the power was still out and it only a matter of time before the bitter cold claimed its first victim. This was one time when being a werewolf was a real advantage.  The fire had burned down to glowing coals hours ago but the five of them were plenty warm beneath the pile of blankets they’d made on the floor, warm enough Stiles was happily drowsing with his face resting against Derek’s chest despite being human.  That first night the tears of grief the boy had cried in his sleep had felt like drops of acid falling on his skin, awakening the fierce desire to protect that he had only ever felt for family before.  Not that the kid really needed protection, at least not the kind that came with fangs and claws.  Peter had been right about one thing: there were packs that would kill to have someone like Stiles.  Even if the stunning display of power was merely a result of their current extraordinary circumstances, it hinted at an incredible potential.  Derek was determined to be there to make sure the kid didn’t blow himself up trying to reach it.  It was a small sacrifice for someone who had risked their life to save his.

 

He must have drifted off again after sunrise because when someone started pounding on the door he was too sleepy to remember to put a shirt on, answering the door wearing only a pair of basketball shorts despite the frigid air.  It was no problem for him as a werewolf, but definitely surprised the Sheriff’s Deputy waiting outside.

“This is the Sheriff’s home.  Who are you and what are you doing here?”  The young African American officer would have been pretty if her face hadn’t currently been twisted up in a mask of narrow-eyed suspicion.  Her fingers didn’t quite twitch toward her gun but the intention was definitely there.

“I’m Derek Hale.  I came by with my sisters and Scott McCall yesterday to help Stiles sort through some of his Father’s things and got snowed in.”  It was only mostly a lie but it seemed to mollify her a bit.

“You’re one of the Mayor’s kids.”  Her expression softened a bit.  “How is he?  Everyone down at the station’s been worried about him but your Mother wouldn’t let us see him, said he needed “space”.”  She obviously wasn’t happy about it but Derek understood better than anyone how hard it was to stare down Talia Hale.

He sighed tiredly, not needing to fake the sympathetic emotional exhaustion.  “As well as can be expected.  He sleeping right now.  I’ll be going down to my Mother’s office later to help out dealing with all of this.”  He waved a hand at the deep drifts swept into a Seuss-like landscape by the wind.  “How about I bring him by the station on my way there.  I’m sure he’d like to see everyone.”  He was absolutely _not_ sure; he just couldn’t think of anything else to say.

It was enough for the Deputy.  “Okay then,” she said with a nod, casting a quick appreciate glance over her shoulder as she turned and walked back to the monstrous gas-guzzling SUV that she’d driven.  A road had been broken through the snow during the night but anything smaller would never have made it.  “One more thing,” she called as she opened the driver’s side door.  “Stiles has a lot of people looking out for him and most of us are armed.  Take good care of him, you hear?”  He nodded in understanding, waiting until she drove away to close the door with a shake of his head.  This was going to be interesting.

The others were stirring in the living room when got back.  “Wuzzat Tara?” Stiles slurred sleepily.

“A Deputy came by.  I told her I’ll bring you over to the station later so they could see my family didn’t eat you.”

Stiles paled a little as that bit of news shocked him out of his lingering drowsiness.  “Oh.”  His face became closed off for a moment before a look of manic cheer exploded across it.  “Well, then.  I guess I better make a good breakfast.”  He sprang up, taking the blanket with him.  The sleeping wolves made small noises of protest and promptly twisted into a were-pretzel in search of warmth.  “Um…we don’t really have anything,” he called from the kitchen.  “Wait a second…success!”  Stiles reappeared holding a box of Cheerios and a gallon of milk.  “Looks like the fridge kept it from freezing.”  He looked at Derek’s bare chest and shivered.  “Dude, aren’t you cold?  Never mind, werewolf.”

“Did someone say breakfast?” Scott asked disentangling himself from Cora’s grabby hands.

She groaned miserably clutching her arms around herself.  “Coffee.”

“Coffee and Cheerios doesn’t count as breakfast,” Laura growled standing up and stretching.  Stiles almost dropped the cereal fixings he was carrying to the table at the sight of her torso bowed back.  The old t-shirt she’d borrowed from him was indecently tight and Derek could see the wicked gleam in her eyes as she reveled in the boy’s reaction.

“Laura,” he growled warningly, “Please stop trying to him to death.  It’s too early to be choking on teenage hormones.”

Stiles shook his head and scowled at him.  “She’s not _my_ sister.”  He set the stuff down on the table and poured himself a bowl.

Derek went into the kitchen to check out the food situation for himself.  He was used to working with a fully stocked pantry but had visited Laura and Jake in their dorm rooms and apartments often enough to appreciate the Frankenstein-esque culinary wonder that was “college stew”, basically everything from the back of the cabinets and fridge thrown into a pot and boiled into something semi-edible or at least non-lethal.  The stove was gas, which was lucky, and the pots and pans serviceable if a little dusty. 

When Stiles came back with his dirty dishes it was with an awed look on his face.  “Whoa, what are you _making_?”

“Stew.”  The meat was browning on one burner, the onions sautéing on another, while the water for the pasta boiled on a third.

“If you say so.  Anyway, Cora and Scott are going to drive Laura back to your place in the hummer and take some stuff to Melissa at the hospital.  While you “cook” I’m going to practice my hocus pocus.”

Alarm bells started ringing in Derek’s head.  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Stiles waved a hand dismissively.  “It’s fine.   The magical storm thingy is over already.  Besides, I have to be ready for whatever comes next.”  The grim determination looked horribly out of place on the young man’s face.  Derek wanted to tell him he was being paranoid.  Unfortunately he’d never had much of a poker face and Stiles didn’t need to be able to hear his heart to detect lies.

“Just try not to unleash the apocalypse,” he grumbled instead.

The boy rolled his eyes and clapped Derek on the shoulder.  “I would _never_ ,” he said with mock sincerity.

 

 

By the time everything was in the pot and simmering the house had not yet been immolated by a pillar of hellfire so got dressed and went to see what Stiles was up to only to find him sitting at the table staring tiny sapling in a mason jar.  “What is that?”  He was quickly realizing there was no end to the kid’s eccentricities.

“Oh hey.  This is Orin, my bonsai buddy.”  It was truly remarkable Stiles could say that with a straight face.

“Right.  Are you trying to commune with it or something?”  Derek hadn’t spent much time going through Peter’s library but that sounded withcy enough.

“No,” Stiles scoffed, “I’m trying to decide what kind of style I want to train this into.”

“And this is magic because..?”

“It’s not; I’m taking a break.”  Derek managed to refrain from asking “from what” but whatever it was had Stiles looking a little drawn and tired after less than an hour of doing it.  “Here, check this out.”  He held up a single Cheerio with a flourish and placed on the table in front of him leaning in close and staring at intently.

After a couple minutes of that the curiosity overwhelmed Derek.  “Is something supposed to be happening?”

“Shhh, I’ve almost got it.”  The piece of cereal started to vibrate, rocking in place for a moment before shooting an inch across the wood.  Stiles blew out a huge breath like he’d just lifted his bodyweight over his head.  “Ha!  See that?” he asked grinning triumphantly.   “The Force is totally strong with me!”

Derek eyed him dubiously.  “Congratulations?”

“It’s not’s as easy as it looks,” Stiles said defensively.

“It looked like you were about to have a hernia.”

The boy grimaced.  “Yeah, well, it turns out this magic stuff is hard.  Just knowing how to do it doesn’t mean you have the skill.”

“But you managed to do a spell literally in your sleep that kept an Alpha as strong as my mother out.”

“Not on purpose.”

“What’s the difference?”

“It was like that cloaking spell I accidentally did at your house.  Instinct.  You may recall it took me six hours to wake up afterwards.”

He remembered all too well considering he’d sat there terrified the entire time.  “It sounds like this could be dangerous for you.”

Stiles shrugged.  “Maybe.  Mostly it’s just about conditioning my mind and body to handle the strain without something going haywire.”

“I guess moving cereal with your mind is better than trying to light candles or something.  That was not a suggestion,” he added quickly when the boy’s face lit up with inspiration.

“You’re no fun at all, Sourwolf,” Stiles said with a pout.

“So I’ve been told,” he replied drily making him wince.

“Sorry.  So what’s cooking?  And what’s with you and soup?”

“It’s whatever I could find that wouldn’t poison us.  And I like soup because there’s almost no chance it will catch fire and burn the house down.”  Also, it was the only thing he was any good at making.

“Sounds like there’s a story there,” Stiles said with a wry twist to his mouth.”

Derek made a noncommittal sound; he was going to save the Derek and Laura Make a Mother’s Day Cake story for when the kid really needed a laugh.  The two of them were _still_ banned from so much as touching the oven after nearly two whole decades.  “You look tired,” he said changing the subject.  “Is there something else you can do to practice?”

“I guess.  Moving objects around isn’t exactly a normal use of this stuff.  Mostly it’s wards and blessings, stuff like that.  I picked the telekinesis thing mostly because the worst thing that can happen is I give myself a headache.”

“Do you have one now?”  He didn’t really have to ask; pain had an unmistakable acrid scent.

“A little.  I can take some ibuprofen if it starts to really bother me.”

“May I?” he asked holding up his hand.

“May you what?”  Stiles’ eyes went out of focus slightly in what Derek was coming to recognize as his _Checking with his Inner Peter_ look.  “Oh, the pain sucking thing.  Sure, give it a whirl.”

He placed his hand on the side of the boy’s head in a gesture just shy of a slap and stated drawing out the pain.  The cross-eyed nervous-intrigued look on Stiles’ face as he tried to watch the black lines snaking up his forearm was priceless.  Derek barely managed to keep the discomfort off his face.  It was _not_ a trivial amount of pain.  He gave the boy an accusing stare and got a sheepish look in return.  “If you’re in pain and I’m around just tell me, okay?”

Stiles squirmed in his seat, apparently uncomfortable at the idea of someone taking care of him like that.  “Fine.  I might make you regret that offer though,” he said mischievously.

“I don’t doubt it.”

 

 

 

“A flower!” Scott yelled.

“No, a tree!” Cora countered.

“The Gorgon Medusa!” Laura shrieked wildly.

Stiles gave the three of them a pained look.  “Seriously guys?”

“It’s a parrot,” Derek said as he set the pot of stew down on the table.

“Actually it’s a yellow crested cockatoo, but good job.”

He reluctantly returned the offered high five.  “That’s four for four,” he said smugly.

Scott made an embarrassingly canine whining sound.  “How are you two doing that?”

“Yeah, you’ve got to be cheating somehow,” Cora pitched in.

Laura gave Derek and Stiles a look that said she knew how but didn’t say anything.  She had been in Claudia Stilinski’s art class with him after all.

“You’re just jealous of our deep and profound artistic connection,” Stiles said loftily.  “Oh look, lunch.”  Derek ladled out bowls for each of them, wondering how exactly he wound up in the role of Den Mother.  The others waited until Stilinski assaulted his bowl to dig in, having unconsciously placed him just below Alpha in their temporary pack.  Instinct died hard for werewolves.

“This really good,” Scott declared in a shocked voice.  Stiles kicked him under the table, bringing a blush and a sheepish look out of the new Beta.

“Thanks,” Derek said drily, although truthfully he was just as surprised his “cheeseburger soup” had turned out so well.

Werewolves could really put it away, but their appetites couldn’t hold a candle to the human’s.  The boy inhaled three bowls for each one of theirs.  Magic must burn a lot of calories and he’d practiced for almost two hours.  By the time Scott, Cora, and Laura had gotten back he didn’t need his pain taken anymore and could move the Cheerios around for a whole minute before taking a break.  To take things to the next level he’d layed out a field of cereal on the table and slowly resolved an image while everyone shouted out guesses.  If Derek managed to sort things out with his mother this would undoubtedly become his family’s favorite new pastime.  Family Game Night was one of the many reasons it was a good thing the nearest house was miles from theirs, given the number of time outs they typically had to take so people could heal when disputes over points devolved into snarling knock-down drag-outs.

“That was amazing,” Stiles said with a yawn when he’d finally finished.

Derek just stared at his still slim torso wondering where it had all gone to.  “It was supposed to last all day,” he said sourly.

The kid looked massively unapologetic. “Oops.”

“Dad and Sam are probably already working on Christmas Eve dinner,” Cora offered tentatively.

“No,” Scott said resolutely.  “Me and Stiles are doing Christmas Eve at my house.”

Stiles gave him a grateful look.  “It’s tradition.”

“Oh.  Ouch,” she hissed when Laura smacked the back of her head.

Derek’s face must have betrayed his uncertainty because Stiles gave him a considering look and said “You can come too Derek, if you want.”

“Maybe,” he hedged.  The current situation was strained but the idea of spending Christmas away from his family was painful nonetheless.  Still, he was afraid to take away any Stiles’ support.  The boy had been holding up almost worryingly well and Derek didn’t want to think about what might happen if he had a five alarm emotional meltdown while his developing powers were so volatile.  Besides, Scott really couldn’t be left alone.  The Beta hadn’t even shifted for the first time yet and control could be difficult for bitten wolves, especially teenage ones.

“Your enthusiasm is heartwarming,” Stiles deadpanned.  “So, Laura, how is everything back at the old homestead?”  Translation: is your mother planning on eviscerating me?

“It’s fine, Stiles.  They’ve already sealed off the back of the house.  This kind of thing happens all the time; it’s really not a big deal.  Mom’s not upset with you.”

“Wasn’t _she_ the one who threw _him_ through the wall?” Scott asked pointedly.

Laura shrugged.  “She overreacted a little.  Stiles _did_ break my brother’s back.”

McCall’s eyes flashed yellow, fangs and claws making their debut appearance.  “Scott!” Derek barked, infusing his voice with command.” 

The Beta’s shift retreated as he stared back at him stunned.  “How did you do that?”

“Derek, did you just _Alpha_ him?” Cora asked in a stunned whisper.

“Your eyes looked a kind of…violet little brother,” Laura added.

“You’re twenty minutes older than me,” he responded automatically.  So much for avoiding the whole Alpha disaster.  He had to get this under control and soon, especially with the Wolf Moon celebration coming.

“Hey, why are his eyes blue when everyone else has yellow?” Scott asked.  Everyone else, including Stiles, looked at Derek with baited breath.  Eight years and still walking on eggshells.

“I’ll explain later,” Stiles told him quietly.  Of course _he_ knew what caused werewolf eyes to change, but probably wrongly assumed it was because of Kate.  Derek shoved the memory of Paige down as far as it could go before he had bolt for the Stilinksi’s attic or something.

Scott took the hint.  “Okay.”

Cora came to the rescue.  “So what’s the plan?  I feel overcome with yuletide feels.  Should we deck the halls?  Go caroling?  Stiles probably knows Peter’s secret recipe for his special eggnog.”  She looked at him expectantly, beaming when he nodded cautiously.  “Awesome, Santa’s sleigh will be guided by red-nosed werewolves tonight!”

“Cora,” Derek growled.

“What?  I think some Christmas cheer is in order here.”  His sister just didn’t get the meaning of the phrase “trying too hard.”

“Sourwolf here needs to talk to Mom first, sis.”

Derek’s growl deepened to a snarl.  “Don’t call me that.  This is not a thing that’s happening.”

“Would you prefer “Grumpy Cat”?” Stiles asked grinning evilly.

“Sorry man, Sourwolf is here to stay,” Scott confirmed.

“I hate all of you,” he muttered.

“Lies.  Group hug!” Cora crowed.

“No!”  His protests were lost when they piled on him pinning him in his chair, even Scott joined in.  “Get.  Off.  Me.”

“Nope,” Laura said ruffling his hair in a clear plea for a violent death.  “You’ll have to _make_ us.”  Derek wasn’t sure if she was kidding or actually in favor of the idea of starting a scion pack with him as Alpha.

“Even if you do I’ll just Mountain Ash us all in together, so there’s no use fighting,” Stiles assured him.  “Resistance is futile _Sourwolf_.”

“What did I do to deserve this?” he wondered aloud woefully.

“Something good,” the boy said leaning his head on Derek’s shoulder.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“You don’t have to do this, you know.  If you want I can take you back home or to Scott’s…” he trailed off looking at Stiles huddled in on himself in the passenger seat of the Camaro, and not from the cold.  Once the sun had risen the temperature soared into the low fifties, melting away the snow like the earth was desperate to burn off the traces of the unnatural weather.   Already the roads were clear enough for sports car Laura had driven back from the house to navigate safely.  When night fell the snowmelt would refreeze them into an icy deathtrap but for now the citizens of Beacon Hills had a reprieve and the streets were thronged with people rushing around making last minute preparations for the holiday.

“No, it’s okay.  I need to start…taking care of things.  This will be easier than packing up the house.”

Derek wanted to howl in frustration.  He didn’t know if it was his incipient Alpha potential or just a result of getting to know the boy but seeing him suffer like this and not being able to help was driving him crazy.  “You’re still going to sell it then?”

“I think I need to.  I always figured I’d go away to college and then come back.  Now…”

“You want to be able to make a clean break and move on.”

“Yeah.  I’m going to apply for emancipation.  If it wasn’t for Scott and the whole werewolf thing I’d probably leave after the school year, finish high school somewhere that’s else.”

He couldn’t really claim to understand.  Beacon Hills wasn’t just his home it was his family’s territory, had been for over two hundred years.  Confronting the very real possibility that he might not have a place here any longer was a terrifying proposition but one he might have to face sooner rather than later.  “If you need to leave I can look after Scott.  My mother was the one who turned him; he’s not your responsibility.”

“He’s my best friend, dumbass,” Stiles seethed, “Of course he’s my responsibility. So are you for that matter.”

“I’m a big boy, Stiles, I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked getting angry and defensive.  Were they really going to do this now?  He considered pulling over but they were almost to the station so he eased up on the gas a little instead.  If he wrapped the car around a pole because he was too busy arguing to watch the road he could walk away but Stiles couldn’t.  Probably.

“Werewolves need a pack to survive and you might lose yours, your _family_ because of _me_.”  The vehemence in the young man’s voice was borderline frightening. 

“Nothing about what’s happened is your fault.”  Except save his life.  Derek couldn’t help but think Stiles and Scott would have been better off if they’d run screaming that night in the clinic.  Further proof he’d be a terrible Alpha: he hadn’t even thought about what seeing him at odds with his family might do to a boy who had just lost his _father_. 

“Stop feeling guilty!” Stiles screamed, making him swerve out of shock.  “God, I can _feel_ it.  I can already sense you and Scott.  That’s _pack_ , Derek, so put on our big wolf pants and deal with it because we’re not going anywhere.”

“That’s not…it doesn’t mean…” he stammered completely off-balance from the sudden declaration.

“Don’t try and bullshit me I know way more about werewolf lore than you do, remember?”

Damn it that was almost certainly true.  He was going to _kill_ Peter.  “Just think it over, alright?  Talk to Scott.  We have almost a month until…”

“Until the Wolf Moon, got it.”

 

 

They passed the rest of the drive in tense silence, but if nothing else their confrontation had helped Stiles get a leg up over his trepidation, not even waiting for the car to come to a complete stop in the Station parking lot before leaping out and stalking inside.  The Hummer was only a few seconds behind, Scott following his friend’s example but stopping long enough to throw a scathing glare at Derek before rushing inside.  Stiles obviously wasn’t the only one with a developing pack bond.  Between the intense atmosphere of the last few days and the boy’s innate magical talent the link was growing far faster than normal.  He’d been right.  They _were_ pack.  After shedding blood together, sharing meals and a roof, and standing side by side against an Alpha and _her_ pack there was no point in denying it.  It was done.

He brooded over the finality of that oh so happy thought all the way to City Hall.  The link between them had grown so faint he wouldn’t have trusted his sense of her if hadn’t already known she was there.  It was the final nail in the coffin.  His pack bond with her might be almost gone but his hearing was only slightly diminished and it was easy enough to focus on her office and the heated discussion she was having with Deaton.

“I warned you Talia, destroying the Nemeton would have consequences.”  The man sounded like he was teetering on the edge of washing his hands of the Hale family.

“It was too dangerous to be allowed to remain.  Even after the sacred tree was cut down it retained enough power to draw the fairies here and look what happened.  I nearly lost my _son_ , Stiles did lose his father, and it’s a miracle the storm they spawned didn’t kill anyone else.”  She spoke with her usual calm certainty.  Instead of finding it comforting it made Derek angry.

“I’m not sure only “nearly” lost your son.”

“Derek’s place is with his family,” she said sternly.

“Is it?  He’s been closed off ever since The Truce.  Thanks to your machinations Derek is finally showing signs of actually caring about something again.  Do you really think he’ll just give that up just go back to haunting your attic?  Would you really want him to?”

He could _hear_ the red start to burn in her eyes as she spoke.  “Careful, Alan.  Derek isn’t just my son he’s my Beta and…”

“Beta?  _I_ sensed the spark kindle in him when he took Stiles and Scott from you so I know you felt it.”

“And?  I know my son and Derek neither wants nor is ready to be an Alpha.  You forget I was the one who brought Stiles into his life and it worked beautifully.  It’s really quite perfect.  I can groom Derek to one day take over from me and you can train Stiles as your successor.  Now that Scott is mine he will bring Stiles and Derek will have no reason not to return home where he belongs.  Your worries may turn out to be unfounded.”

Deaton’s breathy answering chuckle was full of disbelief and just a smidge of condescension.  “You seem to have made a habit out of underestimation lately, but if you think Scott McCall will bend his neck for you you’re in quite a reckoning, _Alpha_.”

“He’s just a boy,” she replied nonplussed, “a good one by all accounts but a child nonetheless.”

“For now, but boys have a way of turning into men and you’ve given him a hell of a reason to grow up fast.”

“If that’s so then he sounds like a welcome addition to my family.  From what I understand Cora is quite fond of him, perhaps in time he’ll be another son to me in truth.”

“And Stiles?  Do you have a match in mind for him as well?” Deaton asked with an odd inflection.

“It’s not unheard of emissaries to be mated to a member of the pack they serve.”

That cast a different and disturbing light on her decision to push them together, one Derek was not going to contemplate lest it widen the rift between him and his mother.

“Stiles Stilinski is _not_ an emissary.  In fact he’s a large part of why I never wanted Scott introduced into our world.”

“Why not?  He’s clearly got talent.  Your order has a hard enough time finding new members as it is yet you turn away someone with such obvious promise?”

“Promise?  I suppose you could call it that.  Stiles is intelligent, willful, strong, loyal, and has an excess of conviction, for all that he lacks focus.”

“Yes, I see it now,” she drawled sarcastically.  “He sounds like an enormous detriment.   Any pack that took him on would surely be doomed.”

“I wouldn’t expect an Alpha to comprehend the danger; that’s why my order exists.  You’ve never known anything but power, pack, and family.  Stiles has suffered grief, loss, and loneliness that are far outside your experience.  It would be all too easy for him to become a Dark Oak, and he wouldn’t hesitate crossing that line if it meant saving his pack.  Those same qualities you so admire could remake him into a nightmare if he can’t maintain the necessary neutrality and emotional objectivity that lets us do our job.  That ward he raised against you when he turned up at his house?  Discounting the extraordinary amount power that took as a consequence of the magical turbulence from the dissolution of the Nemeton I _still_ have no idea how he did it.  It shouldn’t have been _possible_ without some kind of foundation to anchor it to, and a massive one at that.”

Talia’s voice took on a dangerous edge.  “Are saying he’s already becoming a threat?”

Derek felt his claws and fangs extending at the potential violence in her tone; she was all but openly threatening his pack.  He carefully kept his line of sight free of reflective surfaces, afraid of what he might see if he caught sight of his eyes.

“I’m saying the universe balances things out.  You set yourself against and eventually destroyed a great power.  _Something_ will take its place and it will be almost certainly at odds with you.”

“And what would you suggest I do?  Kill him?  Send him away?  The Twins don’t have an emissary yet and Stiles could probably give them a run for their money.  They’ll be finishing out high school here in any event so I can help them adjust to their new position.”

“Let’s call that plan Z.”

“Perhaps we should hear my son’s opinion.”

“Might as well invite him in since he’s been listening in the entire time.”

Crap.

 

 

He hustled into the building getting more than a few perplexed looks from the staff that had been called in despite it being Christmas Eve in light of the snow.  It was wonderful reminder of how he’d gotten himself into this mess in the first place.  He was the Mayor’s son for crying out loud and a Deputy along with most of the people in her employ didn’t even _recognize_ him.  If it wasn’t for his dedicated following of coffee swilling gawkers _nobody_ would.  No matter how this current clusterfuck turned out there was no escaping the glaring truth: it was time to change some things.

His Mother was waiting on the other side of the door for him when he reached her office and drew him into a crushing embrace.  “I’ve missed you Little Wolf.”

And that was the hardest thing.  He had no doubt whatsoever that she loved him and would shred anyone or anything that threatened him without blinking.  It should have been enough; it should have been everything, but as much as he wished he could just curl up on her lap while she stroked his hair “Little Wolf” had died with Kate.  “Me too.”

She released him only to cuff the back of his head with enough force to crack a human’s skull.  “What is wrong with you?”

“I wish I knew,” he muttered.

“That was rhetorical,” she scolded gently.  “I don’t want you to change; I just want you to be happy.”

“Sometimes the one mandates the other,” Deaton suggested.

Talia rolled her eyes.  “Thank you for the insight, Alan.  Ultimately the choice is up to my son.”  She placed her hands on either side of his face and looked him in the eye.  “What is it that you want?  Tell me and I’ll give it to you if I can.”

Derek knew the answer, maybe had for some time; it was just hard to say.  “I think I need to move on.  Not right away.  I have to look after for Scott and Stiles for now, which I have a feeling will keep me pretty busy for a while, but they’ll be leaving in a couple of years and when they go I will too.”

“They are not your responsibility.”

“I said the same thing to Stiles earlier and he nearly took my head off.”

“The bond has already formed then?” Deaton asked in a worried tone.

“It has.”

Talia nodded.  “Good.  I don’t want you to be alone.  Even if you can’t remain as a part of my pack you are still family and Beacon Hills is your home as long as need it to be.”

“Derek, about the Stilinski boy…” Deaton began, but Derek had had enough Stiles bashing.

“Yeah, I heard your concerns.  Today he spent two hours using his diabolical powers to move a Cheerio across the dining room table.  The boy is a menace to orderly rows of small objects everywhere; truly he must be stopped.”

“Derek,” Talia admonished, laughter coloring the reproof.

“I’ll try and convince Laura and Cora to go home.  Will that be enough to prevent the “spark” from taking hold?”

“Maybe,” Deaton hedged.  “But it takes more than a pack to make an Alpha and even if your new one only consists of Scott and Stiles you would be wise not to underestimate the kind of potential they have, especially together.”

“But maybe helping them realize it is exactly what my son needs,” Talia mused thoughtfully. “Alan may have a point about balance. Very well, it seems I have no choice but to support your decision.  I will not, however, dismiss you from my pack nor compel your sisters to side with either of us.”

“But I thought you said I wasn’t ready to be an Alpha?” he asked in confusion.

“You’re certainly not ready to challenge me for it, but if caring for your pack and just being who you are is enough to make you one then how can I say it’s not meant to be?”

Derek really had nothing to say to that so he turned to Deaton.  “Will you agree to train Stiles?  This would probably go a lot easier for all of us if he had more than Uncle Peter’s notes to work from.”

Deaton grimaced.  “You may be right about that.  Have you noticed any odd behaviors or manifestations, anything at all?”

He shrugged.  “I wouldn’t really know what counts as “odd” where neophyte druids or whatever are concerned, but he’s very strong, I mean _physically_ strong.  I was planning to work on hand to hand with him for the next time an angry Alpha throws him through a wall.”  Talia gave him an arch look but smiled anyway.  “I should be able to get an idea of just how strong.”

The emissary looked less than reassured.  “Please keep me apprised, and tell Stiles I’ll see him after the funeral.  His energy is too unstable right now to explore his nascent abilities safely.  Try and discourage him from going places he’s not ready to.”

“I will.”  There was no use pointing out that any endeavor to control Stiles Stilinski was over before it began.

His Mother pulled him in for another hug.  “Good luck Little Wolf,” she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. 

He clutched her tighter as he felt the chains that had kept him bound in the past began to loosen.  Luck was the least of what he was going to need, especially since he didn’t believe for a second that she was going to let them go so easily.  He had a sinking feeling that things were about to get very interesting.  Maybe Stiles’ epic bitch slap had broken his brain but he found himself looking forward to it.  Cora was right though; they were going to need _rum_.


	7. Blame it on the Eggnog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas Eve and Stiles takes the pack to the McCall house with him to celebrate it. Unfortunately, the toll of recent events and his out of control powers make it somewhat less merry than he'd like.
> 
>  
> 
> Trigger Warnings: references to past underage, teen drinking, scenes of torture, language, and some seriously pretentious art talk.

Fuck Derek Hale.  Fuck him with a fucking Mountain Ash _tree_ infested with mistletoe and steeped in wolfsbane.  The man was _unbelievable_ , saving his life, making him feel safe, and then trying to back the fuck out.  _Bastard_.  He should have known better than to think someone would stick their neck out for him just _because_.

“Uh, Stiles?” Scott whispered nervously closing the door behind him.  “Do you think could stop that?  You’re freaking me out.”

He looked up from where he leaned over his Father’s desk trying to burn a hole in the scarred surface between his palms with his eyes.  Every object in the office that weighed less than a pound or so was levitating and the rest were shaking, rocking, or vibrating in place.  Damn it that shouldn’t be _happening_ ; emotional turmoil could only explain so much.  Something was very wrong with him.  He gathered up his sudden terror, his anger, and his grief and crammed them into the painful sensation of pressure building behind his eyes, blowing the whole mess out through his mouth in a silent scream.

Everything fell back into place in a symphony of soft bumps and clangs as he slumped boneless into the worn leather chair that still smelled like his Dad.

“I think I’m in trouble, Scotty.”

His friend walked over to the filing cabinet and opened the only drawer that didn’t have a label.  “Stiles, in the last three days you broke a curse, lost your Dad, got adopted by a pack of monsters, thrown through a wall, did scary powerful magic, slipped into a coma, and most disturbing of all snuggled with Derek Hale half naked.  Also, I got turned into a _werewolf_.  I think we left “trouble” about three counties back.”  Scott pulled out the bottle of Johnny Walker Blue the Sheriff had kept in there to celebrate closing the really tough cases and took a swig.  “Here,” he said offering the bottle, “You don’t want to do this sober.”

“ _You’re_ suggesting underage drinking in the _Sheriff’s Station_?  When did _you_ become the corrupting influence in this friendship?”  Stiles took the bottle anyway tossing back three good chugs in one go.

“I _am_ a creature of the night,” Scott said snatching the whiskey and taking another drink before capping it and putting it back in the cabinet.

“I wasn’t done with that, Rocky Horror,” he pouted.

“Rocky what?”

If it weren’t for the adorable confused doggie head tilt he would have given up on his best friend right there.  “Never mind.”  He snatched the cardboard boxes one of Deputies had thoughtfully left by the door and started throwing things in it without really looking.  “So…how do you think your Mom’s gonna react if Three Hales From Orient Are come following yonder Stiles to Christmas Eve?”

Scott chuckled under his breath as he carried an armload of picture frames from the wall over to the box.  “Dude I have no idea.”

“I bet it’ll be colorful.”

A perfunctory knock preceded Deputy Greene into the room.  “Stiles, Scott,” he greeted closing the door behind him.

“Hey, Kyle,” he said cautiously, hoping the drawer with the liquor was fully closed.

 Scott went rigid for a moment before darting forward to place his body between Stiles and the Deputy, eyes flashing gold.  Kyle’s eyes glowed right back.

“What the Hale!?” Stiles squeaked.  He’d forgotten the guy was one of Derek’s seemingly endless supply of cousins.  It was understandable.  Kyle looked nothing like Talia’s children with his shorter stature, wiry build, and bright blue eyes.  Between the deep tan and sun-bleached hair (how the hell had he managed that in _December_?) he looked more like a surfer than an officer of the law or deadly werewolf.  “Take it easy, Scott, it’s a friendly.  I think.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” the Deputy deadpanned.

“I was wondering why Laura and Cora didn’t stay to babysit us.”

“I just wanted to see how you were doing.  And yes, to keep an eye on Scott.”

The werewolf in question was halfway to losing it at the intrusion.  “Get out,” he snarled, “We don’t want anything to do with you.”  Kyle looked massively unimpressed.

“That’s very gallant of you buddy, but I can speak for myself,” Stiles drawled ruffling his friend’s hair.  Scott’s wary posture didn’t change but the growling subsided, followed by the fangs and claws.

“You’ve got surprisingly good control for someone so new.”

“He was protecting me.  He’s my knight in shining fur.”

“ _Stiles_.”  Whoops the growl was back.

Kyle rolled his eyes at their antics (Stiles was considering dubbing that move The Hale Classic).  “Oooookay.  Anyway, I smelled the whiskey all the way in the break room and just wanted to make sure you two weren’t going to get matching MIP’s for Christmas.”

“Thanks?” Stiles replied uncertainly.

“I’ll leave you to it.  We hope to see you at the party tomorrow.”

“We’ll see,” Scott sneered.

Stiles sighed fondly at his friend’s over-protectiveness.  “Merry Christmas, Kyle.”

“Merry Christmas Stiles.”  The were-deputy nodded to each of them and edged out of the room without ever fully turning his back on the tense Scott.

“Dude!” Stiles whisper-yelled when they were alone, smacking him on the arm.  “What, is tact a four letter word for werewolves?”

“I don’t like them; they always seem like they’re up to something.”

“That’s because they are.  The Hales own or run just about everything in this town.”

“So what, we’re supposed to kiss their feet or something?”  God save him from mule-headed teen wolves.

Stiles retreated to the chair and banged his head on the desk a couple of times with a groan.  “Try and remember that they are a pack of werewolves.  Right now they’re playing nice, but we _did_ cut and run after being invited in, not to mention we took three of the _Alpha’s children_ including her heir apparent with us.  A little bit of diplomacy couldn’t hurt.”

Scott’s ire evaporated as the reality of their tenuous situation set in.  “I wish they hadn’t come into the clinic in the first place.  Our lives were better before.  At least they were safer.”

“Were they?” he asked quietly.

His friend looked horrified at his verbal slip up.  “Oh man, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault; I’m just being a little oversensitive right now, considering,” he said waving vaguely at the room.  “We never really were though, you know?  _Safe_?  Recent events have redefined the phrase “ignorance bliss” but at least now…”  He trailed off and dug up that feeling of pervasive, pitiful, helplessness and let the defiant rage it inspired arc out of him like a bolt of static and into the sterling silver letter opener that Talia had ironically presented his Dad as a reelection gift.  It leapt of the desk in a whistling metallic blur to bury itself to the hilt in the wall.

“Wolverine and Jean Grey to the rescue?” Scott quipped

“More like Dark Phoenix,” Stiles muttered.

“Hey.”  There was a reason Scott was his best friend.  That crooked jaw was set in determination as he was pulled into superhuman hug.  “Me and Derek will keep you from going all Darth Stiles.  Promise.”

“I know you will,” he replied automatically, “Provided we can convince the Sourwolf to pull his stupid head out of his ass.”  But as he returned the embrace the werewolf in his arms felt awfully breakable.

 

 

 

 

Derek appeared as if summoned mere seconds after they’d finished packing.

“Whoa that’s weird,” Scott said awed when they caught the sense of the man approaching the station.

“Right there with ya.”  He had to make polite noises for a few minutes with some of the denser well-meaning Deputies before they made it out to the parking lot.  Seriously, though, Beacon Hills was pretty quiet and all but he would have expected them to have enough investigative acumen to detect his overwhelming reluctance to discuss his Father’s passing while standing there with the man’s packed up in one sad little box.  When they finally made it outside they were confronted with another challenge: remaining upright.  A frigid gale had whipped up out of nowhere, blowing with enough force to actually push them backwards over the slick pavement during the stronger gusts.  It took a couple of tries and leaning into the wind at a forty-five degree angle to make it to the Camaro.  By the time they were safely settled into the warm leather seats even Scott’s werewolf body heat had been stolen by the cold leaving them both shivering uncontrollably and spattered with muddy melt water. 

“What?” Stiles asked innocently as Derek glared accusingly over the lenses of his aviators.  “You know not everything freaky that goes on in this town is my fault.”

“Hm.”

The man’s suspicion was hardly unwarranted since he was pretty sure it _was_ his doing.  “So…how did it go?” he asked as they pulled out into street.

“Fine.  Mother has decided to sit back and watch for now and I got Deaton to agree to start your formal training in a couple days.  Assuming the clinic hasn’t been relocated to the Land of Oz.”

“Hilarious.”  A particularly violent blast of air chose that moment to force the car into a swerve that even werewolf reflexes were barely enough to compensate for.  “Uh, maybe you oughta slow down a little?”  Derek grinned wickedly and stepped on the gas.  _Jerk_.  Scott snickered at his distress from the backseat.  _Jerks_.  “Real mature, truly Alpha material there pal.”

“I appreciate your feedback,” the werewolf replied in the saccharine voice of a customer service representative.

“So wait, your Mom’s really okay with all of…this?” Scott asked incredulously.

“So she says.”

Maybe he hadn’t done as good a job of separating out the Peter-ness from his misbegotten memories as he thought because the rush of cool calculation that took off through his mind like a shot was a little too cynical and jaded for Stiles.  “It’s a good move for her actually.  If Derek turns out to be a competent Alpha she can turn over the reins to him when her youngest go off to college.  Submitting the collective strength of the current pack to an already powerful Alpha is an easy and bloodless way to bolster the power of the Hale line, and since he’s her son the other packs can’t really object to the succession.”  His head spun for a moment before he realized he’d said all that out loud.  The two werewolves were staring at him in openmouthed shock.  “Eyes on the road, eyes on the road,” he pled until Derek shook it off and started paying attention again.

“That sounds…plausible.  I wish I could say it surprised me but…”

Stiles was not fooled by the nonchalant half shrug.  Curse the stupid pack bond, his hand reached over to grip the man’s knee consolingly without asking permission.  “Hey, it’ll be okay.  She’s just looking out for you and the rest of her family albeit in her own scary assed way.”  He could feel a rogue bundle of muscle in Derek’s thigh begin to twitch spastically under his hand.  “Heh, sorry,” he said snatching it back before it could be bitten off, maybe _literally_.

“S’fine,” the man mumbled, words mangled by some emotion he couldn’t quite make out through the usual stormy soup emanating from the broody wolf.

“Uh, Derek?”

“Yes, Scott?”

“Have you given any thought to how you’re going to talk your way past my Mom?  She got the Christmas Eve shift off because of…reasons.  She’s probably home already.  Stiles and I tried but we’ve got nothing.”

“We’re not staging the invasion of Normandy, Scott,” Stiles chided.  “I manage to get inside your house all the time and she’s never actually installed that electric fence she keeps threatening me with.”

“So your plan is to have Derek get stuck hanging upside down in the tree outside my window until she takes pity on him and lets him in to treat his frostbite?”

So much for the Bro Code, if it in fact extended to not making your Bro look like an inept and therefore edible klutz in front of Alpha predators (and if it didn’t it really, really should).  “That was twice and it was only because she was still pissed at me for convincing you to dye your hair red.  It wasn’t my fault you had an allergic reaction and had to be rushed to the ER during her shift.”

“And whose fault would it have been, pray tell,” Derek murmured through pursed lips that were quivering so hard from trying not to smile it looked painful.  Suffer, Sourwolf, _suffer_.

“We were too busy panicking to actually wash the dye out.  It was this cheap stuff from Hot Topic so I was leaving big red smears on everything.  When my Mom saw me with the stuff dripping all down my face she thought I was dying of Ebola or something.  It took two hours for her to stop screaming at us in Spanish and she made us mop the ER floor after.”

“Good times.  But yeah, you should probably have a plan of attack or something.  If we wait for Laura and Cora we could just sit back and let them overwhelm her with their tag team blitz attack.”

“They won’t be by until later.  They had to “pick up a few things”.”  From the way Derek said it you’d think they were off gift wrapping torture devices to use on him later.

“Too bad.  I heard something about eggnog?  Mrs. McCall would probably take it all in a lot easier if you plied her with alcohol first.”

“Wrong, so wrong,” Scott whimpered.  The guy only had himself to blame if his head took that someplace dirty.

“I think I’ll manage,” Derek assured them smugly.

 

 

 

Stiles couldn’t stop rubbing his eyes trying to dispel the mirage in front of them.  _Derek_ was being almost… _charming._ His world was askew.  It had started out normally enough.

“Thank God,” Melissa had breathed when they’d turned up on her doorstep.  “Stiles I was afraid those crazy Hale people had spirited you away to be raised in their woodland cult or something.  Who’s this?” she asked suspiciously when she saw Derek hovering behind them.

“Oh that’s just…” Stiles began

“Derek Hale, Mrs. McCall.”  He took off his mirrored sunglasses with the barest hint of a flourish and gave her his most winsome smile.  Between his slightly over large front teeth and the deliberately unsure way he held himself he managed to look young and disarmingly earnest, while the stubble and leather jacket gave him a roguish air that had a predictable effect on single Mothers.

“I…you…nice to meet you,” she stammered off balance.

“The pleasure’s mine,” he replied smooth as silk.  “I’m sorry for the imposition but my Mother gets a little over protective sometimes so when Stiles said he really wanted to spend Christmas here with you and Scott I convinced her to let him come but she insisted I come with them.”  He was the very picture of contrite embarrassment.  “My family gets a little insane this time of year and I’m not much crowds so I agreed.  I hope it’s not too much of an imposition?” he asked giving her a mega dose of the Hale’s patented puppy dog eyes.”

“Well that’s very…nice…I mean…oh hell, the more the merrier.  Come on in.”  She waved them over the threshold, one hand unconsciously fussing with her hair.   Damn but the guy quite the operator.  It made a pang of sympathy go through Stiles chest when he considered just how traumatized the guy must be to have moves like that and never use them.  His inner puppet master clapped its hands in glee as a plot was hatched in the back of his mind.

 _“What the hell!?”_ Scott mouthed at him as Derek swept by on Melissa’s heels whispering something to her conspiratorially that had her throwing back her head and laughing just a bit too loud.

 _“I know, right!?”_ They had clearly been sucked into the Twilight Zone or something.  This was all way more surreal than discovering werewolves actually existed.

 

 

That was how they wound up sitting at the McCall kitchen table listening to Derek go on about his artwork and drinking peppermint mochas made in old teapot from instant coffee and Swiss Miss (the power was still out and thanks to the sudden windstorm would likely remain so until the next day).  Melissa was so enthralled by Derek’s Mr. Congeniality shtick she didn’t even notice that Stiles and Scott ignored her and added peppermint schnapps (sorry, boys, adults only) to their own mugs instead of just a candy cane swizzle stick.

“I’ve never been to the Louvre, actually, even though my Uncle Peter took my twin sister Laura and I to Paris for a graduation present.  I spent two days at the Musee D’Orsay, though.  The French Expressionists have always been a major influence in my own work.”

“Oh, _Paris_.  I’ve always wanted to go.”

“I hear the Notre Dame Cathedral is especially beautiful this time of year with all the Gothic architectural elements accented by snow.”

“You know I think they have some of your paintings in the Children’s Ward?”  We tell the kids funny stories about them during procedures so they have something nice to focus on.  You should be very proud.  Most artists never get to have that kind of positive impact on people’s lives during their own lifetimes.”

“Thanks.”  While by all appearances Derek was loving the compliments and the back and forth, Stiles could get a sense of what he was really feeling through the still-tenuous pack bond, and the man was about two seconds from scurrying off to find a hole to hide in and recharge his social batteries.  He gave Scott a significant look hoping he would pick up Derek’s mood before the poor guy had a stroke.

“Say Derek, did you know that when Stiles was a kid he wanted to grow up to be Vincent Van Gogh?”  Stiles was going to have to take an ad out in the paper for a new BFF.  “Once he even got into the first aid supplies and put a bandage over his ear and wouldn’t take it off for a week.”

“I was eight,” he grumbled, cheeks flaming.

“You know I think he still has some of his paintings stashed up the Batcave/crawl space.  Maybe he’d like to show them to you, get a professional opinion?”

“That sounds like fun,” Melissa agreed.

“Sure.  Be right back,” he gritted out before grabbing Derek’s arm and hauling him towards the stairs while the McCalls chuckled good-naturedly at his retreating back.  “You okay?  You seemed a little tense in there.”

“A bit.”

They walked up to Scott’s room in silence, the werewolf relaxing incrementally the further away they got from the kitchen and the peril of human interaction.  “There aren’t really any paintings in here; I burned or hid them all years ago.  We can just hang out here for a few minutes and hope your sisters show up to rescue us.”

Derek shrugged and sat down on the bed with a huff like a deflating balloon.

“So, you wanna tell me why you paint professionally when it obviously makes your soul bleed?”

“Makes my what _what_?”

“Don’t give me The Eyebrows of Existential Condescension.”

“Seriously?  Who talks like that?”

“Look this pack thing goes both ways, right?”

The werewolf nodded cautiously.

“And you’re the Alpha.  _Potential_ ,” he added hastily when it looked like the man was going to correct him.  “Ergo. It’s my job as the future Emissary of BAMFdom or whatever to resolve issues before they threaten the integrity of our pack, yes?”

“That’s not _exactly_ …”

“Whatever.  The point is I’ve read your police file and I can tell you worked with my Mom after all the…eeEEee.”

“ _And?_ ” Derek snarled defensively.  Stiles had to fight to repress the urge to give him a great big hug right then and there.  Maybe he was developing Bipolar Disorder or something because his concern and compassion lasted all of a second before vanishing behind rising anger that revived the pressure behind his eyes.  Stupid, infuriating, emotionally constipated _failwolf_.  A voice in the back of his mind whispered “Stage Two”, but reason was too late to the party to quell the tide of righteous fury.

“You can talk to me.  There is no judgment here because, really?  I made pretty much everyone look well adjusted even before my Dad got whacked by _Bambi_.”  It probably would have sounded more supportive if his words weren’t coming out in a hostile snarl. From the way the werewolf recoiled you’d have thought he’d been offered a double shot of Spirits of Aconite instead of comfort.  “Look, there’s some seriously questionable, rough trade, dubconny shit going on here, but I don’t blame _you_ and I’m here for you.  So spill.”

Stiles’ own angst had obscured the pack bond preventing him from sensing the man’s rising emotions until the weight of them finally cracked something with an inaudible thunderclap he could feel in his own chest.  Derek’s face turned pink, then red, then purple before his supernatural healing swept the color away as he regained enough composure to speak.  “Before you asked why I shave my body hair.  You read the report so you know how Kate died.”

“She confronted you in the high school library during your study hall and pulled a gun on you.  There was a struggle.  The gun went off discharging a single round into her right temple,” he summarized mechanically.  The actual report had included photos that had made guest appearances in his nightmares for years.  His anger faltered in the face of the naked pain shining in Derek’s eyes as they glowed electric blue.

“Did that _report_ mention the gun was loaded with wolfsbane _hollow points_?  There wasn’t much left of her head.  The reason I shave my entire body is because her brain matter dried into my arm hair and I couldn’t get it out.  She used to run her fingers through my chest hair and tell me how hot my _fur_ made her when we fucked.  So yeah, when I finally made it into a shower after your Dad finished _processing_ me I shaved it all off.  I haven’t been able to stand having any since.”

Stiles wanted to fucking _die_.  “I…I didn’t…”

“It wasn’t until after they searched her apartment and dumped her phones that they found the blueprints for my house, that she’d been in contact with some local felons with a penchant for arson, and that she had the date of the Wolf Moon Celebration circled on her calendar.  She was a fucking _Argent_ , a Hunter, and if I’d waited another week to try and break it off with her psychotic ass she would have killed my entire fucking family.”

 _Argent.  Hunter_.  Those words together like that set off a cascade of borrowed knowledge in his mind.  All the centuries of research and notes garnered from hunting werewolves compiled by the Argent clan and disclosed during The Truce poured through him in a rush that left him horrified and nauseous.  “God, I’m sorry I…” he trailed off as a bizarre sensation of _intrusion_ derailed his train of thought.

The boiling black flood of grief and rage coming from Derek froze into apprehension in an instant.  “Stiles?”  He grabbed him by his upper arms and shook him gently.

“I’m fine, it’s just something’s…”  Something that felt like an incorporeal slap to the face but spread over his entire body sent him reeling, would have thrown him to the floor if Derek hadn’t already had a grip on him.  The power that had built up inside him,  
pulsing in time to the wild gusts outside crumbled into dust as the howling wind went quiet in a heartbeat.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.  I’m fine.”  Without the anger, without the power high, he was rapidly coming apart at the seams.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m sorry.”

Derek made a rude noise and rolled his eyes, pulling him into an awkward hug.  “You are the most frustrating creature I’ve ever met,” he grumbled.

Stiles giggled hysterically into the man’s chest, segueing into hitching sobs that morphed back into broken laughter when an outraged Scott sprang into the room.

“What did you do now!?” his friend hissed wolfing out a little.

“Me!?  Nothing!” 

“S’okay, Scott, I was being an ass,” he slurred into Derek’s Henley.  “C’mere.”  Scott eyed his beckoning grabby hands dubiously but obliged with a resigned sigh.  “It’s a were-sandwich.  A werewhich!” Stiles crowed weakly from the middle of the three-way hug.

“Shut up Stiles,” the wolves growled in unison.

For once in his life he did, instead of dialing up the babbling out of pure contrariness, and let himself cry, oblivious to the pained winces caused by his crushing grip.  Derek and Scott duck walked him over to the bed settling the three of them down in a more comfortable position.  As much as he had every right to go to pieces right now it was still a little mortifying.  Whatever, it was pack.

 

 

He must have cried himself to sleep.  The nightmare began immediately.

“Keep the cuts shallow,” a husky female voice whispered as the silver knife in his hand glided through the skin with a silken susurrus leaving a delicate trail of scarlet in its wake.

“Stiles please,” Derek begged hoarsely.  The werewolf was naked, strung up between two frost rimed trees, arms and legs pulled into an excruciating X by thick ropes that reeked of wolfsbane.

“Don’t listen to him; the puppy loves to play.”

He turned to face the woman, all smiles, red lips and leather.  She looked a lot better than the last image he’d seen of her (having her head not reduced to hamburger helped).  Pictures didn’t really do her justice.  Kate Argent’s strength and beauty were best captured in motion, her movements lazily graceful as a leopard with a full stomach.  When she smiled the wan white light in the snowbound forest danced over her glossed lips in a razor-edged glitter of steel.

“Why are we doing this?” he asked mildly curious as he drew another cut parallel to the first admiring the aesthetic of the blood trails curving down over the man’s ripped body.

“It’s the only way to make an Alpha.  Isn’t he beautiful?” she asked looking at Derek with the pride of a master sculptor.  “Have a taste.”

He leaned in and dragged his tongue up the rippling abdominal muscles shuddering as the salty taste of sweat mingled with the coppery tang of blood.

“Now, deeper,” she commanded, pupils blown wide with exhilaration.

He nodded sinking the blade under the edge of Derek’s ribcage, running a soothing hand over his chest when he whimpered in agony.  “Don’t worry, Der, I’m going to make you strong,” he said twisting the blade.

“That’s it Doe Eyes, a true hunter knows how to savor their prey.  Besides, this is the last one; we need to take our time.”  Stiles followed her gaze to the line of bodies hanging from the trees, the macabre fruit of their efforts.  Scott, Laura, Cora, Talia, Daniel, Peter, Kyle, Sam, Catherine, on and on stretching into frigid mist.  “This one will always be your masterpiece, though,” she said looking over his shoulder.

He turned around to face the massive oak, green despite the season.  His father hung there carved and broken, skin mottled blue and purple with lividity.  The worst was the eyes, or rather the gaping sockets surrounded by ragged cuts like the man had clawed them out rather than watch his son work.  Stiles feet dragged him forward unbidden.  He reached out a trembling hand to touch the pale flesh.

His Father jerked at the contact, sucking in a shuddering breath.  “Stiles,” he croaked, “This isn’t you.”

The spell of the dream shattered.  He ran, reaching out for the dark currents of power that throbbed beneath the icy ground and drawing them around himself.  Snow rushed down through the trees swirling around him in a blinding curtain as he fled pursued by Kate’s ringing laughter emanating from everywhere and nowhere.  He ran until the agitated huff of some huge animal brought him up short as he stumbled into a small clearing.

A hulking outline appeared in the whiteout as the beast lumbered forward on massive paws, resolving into the shape of an enormous bear.  The blizzard grew teeth of black ice as Stiles drew it down around him into a nearly solid wall but the snow found no purchase in the bear’s shaggy coat, somehow swirling over and around but never touching it.  The animal stopped a few yards away.  Stiles couldn’t see it clearly but he could feel its gaze, its sheer presence and what it could have sworn was its exasperation.  He (and he had no idea how he knew it was a he) reared back and brought its right paw down with a resounding boom that shook the ground like a giant drum, the virbrations flowing up Stiles’ legs and shaking apart his hold on the storm, his power crumbling into ash as the earth grounded it out.  The blizzard cut off like a switch had been flipped, the air clearing abruptly revealing the massive animal.  It weighed a ton if it weighed an ounce and regarded him with eyes full of penetrating intelligence.

Stiles’ terror slipped away as his rage was rekindled.  He was beyond sick of this crap.  Monsters, Hunters, Druids, they had _nothing_ on him.  The winds came at his call, rushing down directed by his outstretched hand to buffet the bear with force of a tornado.  The beast hunched in on itself, sliding backwards over ground in the supernatural gale.  It managed to shoot him a one-eyed glare that clearly asked “Seriously?” and brought its paw down again, more forcefully this time.  The wind didn’t just die, it reflected back at Stiles with a crack of thunder sending him flying back into a tree.

It hurt a surprising amount. Could someone get a concussion in a dream?  He slapped his face trying to cancel out the sensation of bells ringing inside his skull.  When he opened his eyes again the bear’s nose was inches from his own.  Stiles had just enough time to see the mirth sparkling in its too-smart eyes before the animal surged forward smashing its heavy skull into Stiles’ in a headbutt like a train collision.  The impact threw him up and back through the rushing blackness and out of the dream.

 

 

 

He woke with a start to find himself still pressed between Derek and Scott as they sat on the edge of the bed having some kind of silent argument.  It was impressive how quickly Scott had become fluent in Hale Language, or maybe the Bite took care of that.  He swiveled his cracked eye around to find Melissa leaning against the doorframe staring at them with a mixture of fondness and concern on her face.

“Boys.  Maybe you should just _ask_ him?”

The chagrin the werewolves felt at not noticing he woke up ricocheted around the pack bonds and made him dizzy.  “The answer is yes,” he groaned.  “As long as it involves getting up so I can pee.  How long was I out?”

“A couple of hours,” Derek mumbled rubbing a hand absently over Stiles’ arm.  Melissa’s eyes tracked the movement, her expression melting into in one of “Awwwwww” before going a bit distant and wistful, her mouth quirking up in a smile that made him a little uncomfortable.  After a second she twitched, like she’d just slapped herself mentally, and smoothed her face into careful neutrality.  Stiles did _not_ want to know what she’d just been picturing, especially when he still had the phantom taste of Derek’s blood on his tongue.  The casual physical affection they’d been sharing had been a mite awkward given how much time he’d spent imagining those large, strong hands on his body doing decidedly non-platonic things, but the memory of this sick rush of pleasure his dream self had felt as he caressed the hilt of the knife had neatly slain all Hale related fantasies for the foreseeable _ever_. 

A faint snarl followed the tinkling of breaking glass brought him out of his dark musings and back to the present.  “We were going to ask if you wanted some of whatever Derek’s sisters are cooking up downstairs,” Melissa sighed.

“Sure.”

 

 

 

“Stiles!” Cora screeched when he walked into the kitchen.  “I’ve missed you,” she cooed wrapping him in a tackle-hug.

“Take it easy, Cor,” Laura groaned rolling her eyes, “You just saw him like four hours ago.”

She pouted at her big sister and flounced over to the counter to retrieve the pitcher from the lender.

“Hey!  The power’s back on!” Stiles observed.

“Yep,” Melissa agreed.  “I have to go into the hospital for a few hours to help get everything running again.  Don’t burn the house down while I’m gone and I’ll pretend I didn’t see the girls spike that “virgin” eggnog.”

“I’ll make sure they behave,” Derek said nodding solemnly.

“Buzzkill,” Stiles muttered.

“I’ll be back in time to watch…”

“A Muppet Christmas Carroll!” Scott and Stiles cheered.

“…before midnight.  Save me some of that,” she added conspiratorially giving the eggnog a significant glance.

“Sure thing Mrs. M,” Cora gushed.

“I’m out.”  Melissa grabbed her purse and keys and bustled out the door with one last supportive smile at Stiles.

“So…eggnog?” he asked, “I thought you guys couldn’t get drunk?”

“We can’t normally,” Laura confirmed, “But we brought some of Peter’s special herbs.  The only problem is we don’t know the recipe.”  She looked at him questioningly.

He rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, I’ve got this.”  He took the plastic baggies of powder and called up the knowledge he needed.  Peter had a lot of interesting concoctions and formulae squirreled away in his library of crazy, this one was relatively straightforward.  “We’ll have to make another batch for the humans; I’m not sure how this would affect non-wolves,” he said measuring out the ingredients and adding them to the pitcher.

Cora sidled up and opened the fridge door with a flourish revealing a full punch bowl of the stuff.  “Ta da!”

“This won’t end well,” he muttered while the werewolves chuckled around him.

 

 

“So Scotty, how are you liking your werewolfitude so far?”

“S’not so bad,” the teen wolf slurred.

“Thanks for the glowing commendation of our species,” Derek said with a giggle.  Derek.  _Giggled_.  Stiles world was askew.

“Don’t be too hard on him, Der,” Laura scolded playfully, “He hasn’t even been on a run yet.”

“Ooh let’s!” If Scott had a tail it would be wagging.”

“Down boy,” Stiles said placing a restraining hand on his friend’s arm.

“We’ll get you taken care of soon,” Cora purred snuggling into Scott’s side.  Drunken wolf cuddles.  Too.  Effing.  Cute.

Derek sniggered at Scott’s obliviousness, turning upside down in the armchair he was sitting in so head dangled off the seat.  “I think someone’s had enough.”

“This is pot calling wolf.  FYI, you’re black,” Stiles stage whispered.  Even though he’d drunk at least twice as much as the wolves he barely had a buzz.  It figured.  “Life’s just not fair,” he groused.

“Blargh!” Derek spat.  “ _Life_ is fair; _people_ suck.”

“You are wasted little brother,” Laura observed, though she could hardly talk, swaying to the music in her head.  “And all…philosophized.”

“Ooooookay, I think it’s time for some coffee.”

“Wait wait wait!” Cora said lurching to her feet.  “Melissa!”

“Yeah, my Mom’s gonna be back soon.  Ha, she’s gonna be pissed that we’re all…pissed.”

“No, she found some stuff.  Here…”  She scrambled over them and careened down the hall to the coat closet, throwing it open with a bang and pulling out a huge shopping bag and easel.  “Paint!”  She bounded back over to the couch, falling over the armrest with a whoosh of expelled breath, brushes and tubes of paint flying every which way.

“Yeah, how bout no.”  Stiles regretted all the choices as he gathered up the art supplies and shoved them back into the bag with more force than was strictly necessary.

“But it’ll make you feel better,” Cora whined with tears in her eyes.  “You’re Tiny Tim.  Ebenezar will help,” she said giving Derek a pleading look.  “Come on it’ll be our very own Christmas miracle.”

“Leave them alone, Cor,” Laura warned gently.

“You used to like it a lot,” Scott suggested, the traitor.

“Ugh, fine,” Derek moaned, “One bleeding soul coming right up.”  The werewolf flipped right side up and onto his feet with an unfair amount of grace, especially considering how intoxicated he was.

Stiles sighed woefully.  He obviously wasn’t getting out of this.  It was his fault anyway for mixing up the wolf booze in the first place.  Besides, they might be right.

 

Derek’s “help” made the process of getting things set up take about three times as long.  They didn’t have any proper palettes so they were using paper plates to mix the paint on.  Stiles inner art snob was offended on general principle.  “So, uh, I guess I’m taking requests?” he said uncertainly.

“Paint us…a self portrait…of your very soul,” Cora intoned dramatically, reaching one hand toward the ceiling and curling her fingers like she was grasping at some deep universal truth.  The other was carding through Scott’s hair as he snored against her shoulder.

Stiles shook his head and smiled in spite of himself.  Pushy and overbearing were beginning to seem like an endemic werewolf traits, but it was well meant.  He could feel it more and more as the connections between them strengthened by the hour.  It was time to just go with it.

He took the heaviest brush and loaded it up with indigo and inky brown, making jagged smears across the top of the oversized 36x24 canvas board Melissa had dug out of storage.  “One soul coming right up,” he muttered.

“Needs s’more color,” Derek said making smooth upward curls of pale yellow.

“That’s quite a statement coming from you, Der,” Laura teased.  “Your wardrobe looks like fifty shades of manpain.”

“Shut up.”

“Behave children,” Stiles chided.  Satisfied that the intimidating whiteness of the blank canvas was covered he dropped the brush in a cup of paint thinner and grabbed a flat fan-shaped one instead.  He had missed this, the Zen of watching an image blossom in front of him, formed from nothing but his own hands and imagination.  It was maybe the only time he’d ever felt calm and centered as a kid.  As he slowly spread sepia downwards in feathered strokes he felt like his Mom was there beside him, encouraging him.  The warm glow only lasted for a moment before his thoughts turned back to who _wasn’t_ there.  He scowled at the painting, assaulting it with the brush like he could expel his anger and grief from his heart by splashing onto the canvas.

Derek worked beside him, motions becoming less jerky and uncoordinated as they fell into sync, Stiles painting downward in harsh lines and angles while the older man swept brighter colors upward.  Faster and faster, until they met in the middle, Stiles’ slashes of dark crimson meeting Derek’s whorls of pale orange.

“Um…guys?”  Cora sounded…nervous, almost _afraid_ , but he couldn’t stop.  His arm was weaving back and forth in time with Derek’s like they had choreographed it.

“I think you need to stop,” Laura whispered.  He snarled when he sensed her approach but kept his eyes locked on the painting.

It was almost done.

“Stiles?”  Derek sounded dazed, whatever clarity that had let him paint with such precision receding under the rum-induced haze.

He threw down his brush, using his fingers instead to smear spirals into the paint in two spots in the center.  With a furious gasp he dipped his thumbs in white and pale blue, stabbing the centers of the spirals so hard the easel nearly toppled over.

“Stiles!”  Derek grabbed him, spinning him around.

He grabbed the sides of the werewolf’s face in a vice grip, baring his teeth.  His arms tensed to do…what he didn’t know, until he caught the reflection of eyes in the pained tears shining in Derek’s.  They were glowing a stark, icy blue-white.  His mind reeled seeing the blood beading where his fingernails were digging into the man’s skin.  “Sorry,” he gasped.  What the fuck was _wrong_ with him?  His pulse roared in his ears as he desperately smoothed away the injury, completely forgetting about werewolf healing.  “Better?” he asked before collapsing.

“Shh, just breathe.”

It took a couple of minutes for heart to calm and strength to return to him.  He felt so unbearably cold, but Derek radiated heat like a furnace so he buried his face in the man’s chest and tried not to fall apart for the second time in one day.  “I’m sorry I keep flipping out on you,” he wailed softly.  “I have to be stronger than this.”

“No you don’t.  Hey, look at me,” Derek said taking his face in his hands.  “You have us.  I’m sorry I made you doubt that.  You don’t have to be strong.  You don’t have to be anything but Stiles.”  The sincerity he could see and feel _burned_.

“What’s a Stiles?” he joked weakly.

Derek beamed at him.  “Better.”

Something was weird.  “Hey, how are you sober all of a sudden?”

The werewolf pulled him to his feet.  “You did something.  Some kind of healing?”

Stiles shrugged halfheartedly.  “I guess.”  He didn’t want to think about that too closely.  Healing was a Big Deal, and he wasn’t remotely in control of his so-called “power”.

“Group hug,” Laura demanded, slapping Scott upside the head, waking him.

“What?  Oh.”

He stood there and let his pack surround and support him.  This was good.  This was right.  This was…

“Well this is…heartwarming?” Melissa stood just inside door staring at them with her head tilted quizzically.

“Way to go with the wolf senses,” he muttered soft enough that only the pack could hear him.  “I was having a bit of a meltdown,” he admitted sheepishly from the middle of the werepile, louder.

Stiles watched whatever reservations Melissa had had about the Hale invasion of her home die a quiet death as she smiled at him, putting a hand to her chest.  “Then I’m glad you invited your new friends here.  Make some room,” she said waving at them.  Scott and Derek edged apart so she could join in the group hug.  “Dear God, is there any eggnog left?” she asked sniffing the rum fumes wafting from the three still-drunk wolves.

“Plenty,” Stiles confirmed.  “Let’s get you some Christmas Cheer.”

“Don’t forget this is a one-time thing,” she said pointing a stern figure at each of them in turn, including the legal-aged Derek and Laura.

“Yes Mrs. McCall,” they sang out in unison.

The six of them settled down in front of the TV with eggnog and Jim Henson.  Just before he fell asleep on the couch between Scott and Derek he looked up at the older werewolf.  “Thank you.”

The man said nothing, just smiled back at him, eyes flashing in the flickering light of the television.  For a split second pale blue receded inward around the pupils as the irises warmed through violet to cherry red before their normal color chase it away.  _My Alpha_ , Stiles thought laying his head on Derek’s shoulder.  He was safe here.

Unfortunately Kate was waiting for him when closed his eyes, cattle prod in hand.

“I like the painting.  It’s Dark, expressive, very nice.  But this,” she said pulling the trigger, sending blue sparks arcing out of the weapon, “ _This_ is your True Art.  Are you ready for your next lesson?”  A single ruby-red drop of blood escaped those smirking lips to land on the forest floor with a rolling boom.

Stiles tried to run but this time there was no waiting bear spirit to chase him back to consciousness.  On the McCall’s couch the scream of denial that tore its way out of him was barely a puff of air, so soft that not even a werewolf could hear it and come to his rescue.


	8. Let's Get This Alpha Ball Rolling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek tries to work out what it means to be an Alpha. His plan to make a splash at the annual Hale Christmas Party doesn't quite come off hitch free.

Derek woke with the feeling he was being watched.  He gently eased Stiles off his shoulder, lowering him onto Scott’s and slowly looked around.  Maybe it was sleeping in two strange places in as many days but _something_ was pinging his instincts.  He was just about to brush it off as an after effect of his usual bad dreams when his eyes fell on Mrs. McCall sipping coffee and staring at the painting still sitting on the easel.

“Morning,” she whispered.  “Damn this is creepy, beautiful, but creepy.”

He couldn’t say he disagreed.  Abstract roots reached down across an almost black background, the grasping tendrils red and black at the tips like they’d been dipped in old blood.  Fire curled up from the bottom edge, dancing around the base of five candles with lit wicks surrounded by hazy spheres of pale light that interwove in a vaguely Celtic design.  In the very center two eyes stared out at him from the stygian darkness behind the roots, cold and merciless.  They were Stiles’ eyes as they had been the night before when the boy had turned on him and nearly crushed his skull barehanded.  He was never one to go back on his word but Deaton could jump in a creek for all he cared; the man was _not_ hearing about this.  “Painting can be therapeutic,” he said trying for nonchalant and missing it by a wide margin from the expression on Melissa’s face.

“Uh huh.  I wanted to thank you and your sisters for being here for Stiles.  I worry about him and Scott having no real friends aside from each other.  They’ve been through a lot.”  Her expression turned thoughtful.  “I guess that’s something you three have in common.”

He nodded mutely.  His angst-vomit attack with Stiles was going to have him cringing for _weeks_ as it was.  No sense inviting more drama.  It was supposed to be Christmas after all.

“Cora seems like a nice girl,” she said covering her smile with her mug.

“Hmm,” he replied.  So cluelessness was not an inherited trait in the McCall family.  Good to know.  He was going to have to have a talk with his new Beta about bringing her into the know before she found in out in some spectacular fashion.  There went that Alpha thinking again.  He was just hoping his sisters remembered not to mention the party.  _That_ would be a disaster.

“I’m sure Stiles will understand if you want to spend Christmas morning with your family.”

“We’ll probably head out in a couple of hours.  They brought some gifts.”  Truthfully he was dreading whatever was in the hastily wrapped boxes sitting next to the small plastic tree.  All the same it was a nice distraction from thinking about what was waiting for him at home.

She arched an eyebrow at his worried tone.  “Well, we shouldn’t keep Her Honor waiting.”

It was weirdly comforting to know there was at least one person immune to his Mother’s charms.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“Gimme!”  As much as Derek was determined to help and protect Stiles he couldn’t help but wonder what cruel and capricious deity had decided to amuse them self by imbuing someone so immature with so much power and dump him at his feet.

“Here you go,” Cora said handing him a huge oblong box.

“Gah!”  Stiles was dragged off balance by the weight of it.  “What’s in this the Encyclopedia Britannica?”

“Not quite,” Laura answered grinning like a shark.  Derek had a sinking feeling as he watched the boy shred the shiny red and green paper into confetti in his rush to open his present.  His demonic sisters were watching _him_ avidly, not Stiles.

Scott ducked narrowly avoiding the heavy cardboard lid.  “You should see him on his birthday.  One year Jackson got between him and the cake.  It wasn’t pretty.”

Stiles tried to give his friend a death glare but it was spoiled by his obvious present opening high.  The boy peered into box in confusion for a moment before bursting into laughter.  “You know normally I’d take offense at being re-gifted but this is _priceless_.”

Derek watched in horror as Stiles held up the signed copy of _Fangs and Hearts_.  He was going to take his time planning his revenge.  Whatever form it would take it was going to protracted and painful.

“I’m impressed,” Melissa said leaning in to marvel at the box’s contents.  “Two days with Stiles and you’ve already uncovered his secret shame.”

The boy in question turned beet red.  “Let’s not get carried away.  So I watch the show.  It’s not like I’ve ever bought the books or anything.”  Derek could hear his heart.  While what Stiles was saying was probably true the shimmying arrhythmic beat screamed _lie by omission_.

Scott snickered at him.  “Right. Because hiding the pirated EBook versions in the same folder you keep your porn _totally_ doesn’t count.”

Stiles’ face darkened to an unbecoming shade of puce.  “That’s it, someone give me a lighter and a tree branch,” he said snatching his present to Scott out of the other boy’s lap.  “Scotty’s getting switches and ashes this year.”

“Stiles, think fast!” Cora barked tossing another present at him with superhuman strength.  Stiles caught it reflexively, grunting when the heavy package impacted his chest.  Scott took the opportunity to snatch his gift back.  “That one’s from Derek.”

“Oh really?”  Curiosity overcame embarrassment as another spray of shredded paper covered the floor.  “Wow, Derek, this is amazing.”  Stiles held up the weathered book in awe.

“You mentioned how much you like mythology so…”  Derek shifted uncomfortably at the gratitude gushing from the boy.

“This is a _real beastiary_?  And it’s in Latin?”

“Yeah.  My Dad or Uncle can help translate it.”  He had originally tracked it down as a gift for Peter.  Of course, given how much of himself the man had left in Stiles mind it was like he was still getting it in a way.  It was going to be a long time before he forgave the man for that.

“That’s quite a gift,” Melissa said evenly, giving him level look.

“I have a…friend that deals in antique books.  She sent me that.  It didn’t actually cost me anything.”

“Hm.”

Stiles looked between the two of them, jaw dropping a little when he caught on to Melissa’s implication.  “Scott, open,” he croaked coming to the rescue, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Huh?  Oh, right.”  The kid tore away the wrapping paper in one smooth motion revealing a shoe box.  “Sweet!  I knew I smelled…I mean look, shoes!”  Maybe they were going to have that talk about disclosure sooner rather than later.

“You said you were determined to make first line this season and your old cleats were falling apart so…”

“Thanks, dude!”  Scott pulled his best friend into a hug with an audible creaking of bone.

“Oxygen, becoming an issue,” Stiles wheezed.  They were having that talk _very_ soon.

“Oops, sorry.”

“Here, open this one next.  It’s from all of us,” Cora said all but bouncing in her seat.  She handed him a palm-sized package painstakingly wrapped in shining silver paper and decorated with a white satin ribbon tied in a perfect bow.

Derek appreciated being included in the “all of us” but had no idea what it was.  Scott carefully untied the ribbon and gently teased off the wrapping.  He opened the leather box, the kind expensive watches came in.  Inside was a small wolf carved from opalescent streaked white stone on a simple leather thong bracelet.  “It’s beautiful, thank you.”

He might have been too quick to judge Scott.  From the way he smiling shyly at his sister the new wolf had obviously caught on.  “It’s something I had laying around,” Cora said feigning nonchalance. 

Laura rolled her eyes and muttered something about “puppy love.”

Melissa smirked knowingly at her son as he scooted closer to Cora so she could put it on his wrist.

Stiles looked at Derek, eyebrows raised in shocked questioning.  He nodded back unsurprised the boy recognized it.  The charm was an Hale family heirloom.  Carved from Hecatolite, it was passed on to each of them in turn when they started attending public school to help them control the shift through the stresses of the new environment.  It was one hell of a gift.

“Here Mrs. McCall,” Stiles said handing her a card and a lumpy package.

“Oh, you boys didn’t have to get me anything,” she said, taking them eagerly nonetheless.  The card held a voucher for a day at the spa.  “It’s just what I need.  Very considerate of you two to get me something to relieve the stress you put me through.”

“Hey!” the cried in mock offense.

“The other one’s from us,” Laura said.  The way she was _not_ looking at Derek made the bottom drop out of his stomach.  He could practically _smell_ a plot.

A shimmering black velvet evening wrap with gold and silver beading spilled out as Melissa opened the package.  “It’s…gorgeous,” she gasped, “This is too much; I don’t even have anything to give you in return.”

“Letting us crash your Christmas is more than enough,” Derek countered.  He expected her to feel a lot less indebted to them when she learned his family had changed her son’s _species_ without consulting her first.

“Your too sweet.”  She ran her fingers lovingly over the fabric.  “If only I had somewhere to actually wear it _to_.”  Scott was still adjusting to his new senses and the bitter scent of his Mother’s loneliness made him recoil like he’d been struck.

“Actually…” Cora began, ignoring Derek’s barely audible warning growl.  “We thought you might like to wear it to our Mom’s party tonight.”

“Wow…that’s… _wow_.”  Melissa looked overjoyed.  In sharp contrast Stiles looked _stricken_.  Derek cursed his own stupidity.  _Of course_ Stiles already knew about the party.  Just because the Sheriff had been conspicuous by his absence the last seven years didn’t mean he wasn’t _invited_.  Finding creative ways to get out of attending was probably a Stilinski family tradition or something.  “Oh, God my _hair_.  What am I going to _wear_?”

“He he, Cindermom rhymed,” Stiles said trying to cover his pain with humor.  Derek resisted the urge to go over and give him a hug.  Barely.

“Don’t worry Mrs. M,” Cora said smiling like a Cheshire cat, “I’ve dragooned Lydia Martin into the role of stylist and fashion consultant.  Besides,” she added sotto voce hooking a thumb at Stiles and Scott, “These two need a lot of work before they’ll be presentable.”

Stiles spat out the drawstrings of his hoodie, unfortunate victims of his nerves-induced oral obsession, head snapping up like a bloodhound catching a scent (see, Derek could make dog jokes too).  “Lydia!?  I mean, Lydia?  That’s cool, I guess.”  The stench of unrequited longing flooded out from the boy in a cloying cloud of hormones.  _Teenagers_.

“Very smooth,” Scott quipped.

“Shut.  Up.”

“It’s getting late,” Derek said standing.

“Oh, right.  No that’s okay go on,” Melissa aid absently.  “Shoes!” she gasped scurrying off apparently in search of footwear.

Scott sighed as he watched his Mother fibrillate up the stairs.  “I hope you realize she’s going to try and adopt all of you for this.”  He turned to Stiles.  “No offense, man, but you’re just about all the sibling I can handle.”

Stiles grabbed him in a headlock and ruffled the boy’s unruly mop of hair.  “Aww, it’s okay.  As long as you love me best.”

“Get off!”

“Puppies,” Derek grumbled heading for the door.

Stiles caught him while he was shrugging into his jacket.  “Thanks again for the bestiary.”  The boy rocked on his heels uncertainly for a moment, biting his lip before throwing himself at Derek in a desperate embrace.  “Sorry again for being such a basket case and, you know, forcing you to tell me all that stuff.  That wasn’t cool.”

“Well, you’re not very cool.”

“Jerk!”  Stiles pulled back and punched him in the shoulder before latching onto him again.

This time it was his ribs that creaked.  “Okay, tomorrow I’m taking Scott out into the preserve for training and you’re definitely coming too.”

“I get to go to Hale’s School for Gifted Youngsters?  _Awe_ some!”

“Easy there Bobby Drake.”

“I guess Iceman is cooler than Jean Grey.  Hey!  You made an _X-Men_ reference?  Careful there, Sourwolf or people might think you have an actual personality.”

“Hilarious.”

“Aw don’t pretend.  I know you like me.”

“Do not.”  He couldn’t quite restrain his smile.

“Liar.”

“Have fun with Lydia this afternoon.”

He made good his escape while Stiles was busy staring dreamily off into space.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“Derek!” a chorus of little voices cried as he walked through the door.  Within seconds he was buried in Hales.

“Hey there pups.”

“When’s Stiles coming back,” Kevin demanded hanging off his back.  “You didn’t scare him away, did you?  Cuz Dad said you’re unsociable.”

“Stiles is fine, Kev.”  He was feeling better all the time about giving the bestiary to Stiles instead of Peter.

“So you _have_ noticed,” his uncle drawled coming down the stairs.

“Over the line, Petey.”

“Now now, let’s not be catty.”  The man hated that nickname.  “You missed the gift exchange.  Talia was _thrilled_ you got Will that drum set he wanted.  So thoughtful of you to include a pack of earplugs.”

“I try.”

“I was very disappointed when I didn’t find _The Bestiary of Saint Meinhard_ under the tree.  I assume it found its way to good home?”

“Stiles loved it.”

“Stiles!” the children chorused, a half dozen rapid fire inquiries about the boy blended into a shrill incomprehensible din.

“Alright I’ll ask if he can come over tomorrow.”

“Yay!”

“Now go find Kyle.  He’s the one that hid the chocolate Santas.”  The herd jumped off him and went stampeding off run down his cousin like an unwary deer.

“Nice,” Peter drawled.  “So how is our little Emissary That Could really doing?”

“Like I said, he’s fine, and like Deaton said he’s not my emissary.  He’s in high school for God’s sake.”

“So there is another reason you want him around.”

“Stop with the Dirty Eyebrows, he’s pack.  Besides, someone has to be there to make sure he doesn’t injure himself during the night terrors.”

Peter at least had the decency to _look_ guilty.  “I hadn’t realized…”

“He hasn’t said anything about what he sees in his dreams but he’s started flinching whenever a wolf touches him.”

“Maybe Talia could…”

“No!” he snarled.  “I think you and Mother have done _enough_.”  Peter jerked back as he advanced a couple steps up the staircase.  “I’m going to say this one more time just to be clear.  Stiles.  Is. _Pack_.  Not yours, not Mother’s, _mine_.  No more jokes.  No more insinuations.  No more threats.  Keep pushing and we’re going to have a problem Uncle Peter.”

The man’s fear and submissive posture vanished with speed of artifice replaced by his usual confident smirk.  “Of course, I would expect nothing less from an Alpha.”

Derek flinched like he’d been goosed.  Fucking Peter.  The son of a bitch was playing him, deliberately provoking his instincts to encourage him to accept his potential status.  “Why?” he asked simply.

“Because, dear nephew, our place in this New World Order Talia and Deucalion carved out is less certain than it seems.  Every pack west of the Mississippi has their eyes on California.  With the destruction of the Twins’ pack a fifth of the State is potentially up for grabs.  Our family is too large and influential to the old way of thinking as it is.  If you are able to found a scion pack without killing an Alpha for their power it will solidify our position and buy time for Aidan and Ethan to reestablish control over their territory and rebuild their pack before someone else tries to move in.”

“I didn’t realize things had gotten that bad.”

“Talia prefers to shield you from reality; she doesn’t have the faith in you that I do.”  Derek wanted to discount his Uncle’s words as manipulation and pot-stirring but the man’s they rang true.  “She’d rather let you haunt this house like a wraith.  I saw a way to get you back out into the world and protect our family in one move.  I took it and I won’t apologize for that.”

He watched Peter storm off up the stairs in shock.  That there would be a confrontation today was a given but he hadn’t expected _that_.

Samantha breezed into the foyer and gave him an accusatory look, mumbling something under her breath.  Derek’s ears popped as a privacy spell sprang up around them.  His Aunt may not have had anything like the power of real witch or emissary, but she _was_ Peter’s mate and just as savvy and brilliant as he was, as fiercely dedicated to her pack as any wolf he’d ever met.  “I’ll talk to him,” she said with a sigh.  “A part of him will always feel like he’s the Omega in your Grandmother’s pack instead of the Second in your Mother’s.  You were like the little brother he never had.  It’s hard for him, seeing everything he’s never been able to achieve come to you so easily.”

“Are you saying he’s _jealous_ of _me_?” he asked incredulously.  The idea was hard to wrap his head around.  He had hero worshipped his Uncle growing up.

“I love you like a brother Derek but sometimes you can be a little dense.”  That was…fair.  “It’s part of why Peter has been oh so subtly pushing you and Stiles towards each other.  That boy is too sharp for his own good.  That reminds me, here,” she took a safe deposit key out of her pocket and pressed it into his hand.  “Take this.  There’s a book inside.  Talia thinks I destroyed it.  I’ve never been Alan’s biggest fan but he’s right about one thing: something isn’t right, and I don’t buy his theories about feedback loops and chaotic dissolutions.”

“Do you think he’s right about Stiles, that he’s dangerous?”

“I think power comes with a price.”  She released the barrier with a sad smile just in time for the sounds of a resounding crash followed by a pained howl and gale of children’s laughter to reach them unhindered.  “I better go rescue Kyle from the beasts.  Peter and I are staying here tonight to watch the little ones.  Be careful.”

He watched her float gracefully down the stairs and down the hall, amazed at her, before going up to his room.  His _old_ room.  He sat on the edge of his bed and put his head in his hands, breathing in the mingled scents of pack, new and old, and thinking about just how far in over his head he was.

 

 

His Dad found him there sometime later.  He’d managed to progress as far as lying back and putting a pillow over his head to muffle his snarls of frustration.

“Welcome back Little Wolf.”  Daniel Hale’s quiet tenor would always be the most soothing sound in his world.  Unfortunately, right now he needed a kick in the ass, not _soothing_.

“Why do I feel like everyone but me has an agenda and I’m dancing on their strings like a marionette?” he growled into the pillow.

The bed dipped beside him as his Dad sat down next to him and pulled the pillow off him.  “Welcome to the Wonderful World of Wolf Politics.”

“Remember when I was just a moderately successful painter?”

“Nope.”  Derek gave him the stink eye but got a brighter smile for his trouble.

“I don’t even know where to start doing what needs to be done,” he moaned.  He was being petulant and he knew it, but all the same he wanted his Dad to ride in and save the day with his dry wit and practical mindset.

“Sometimes I think you kids forget I was born human.”  Halfway there already.

“Mom bit you when you were both sixteen.”

“My point is becoming a part of a pack is an adjustment whether you’re joining one or starting one of your own.  So ask yourself what is the one thing a pack needs to actually _be_ a pack.”

“An Alpha,” he answered automatically.

Daniel rolled his eyes at his son.  “Yes, and what does an Alpha do that’s so vital.  Don’t say “gives orders”.  Your Mother is regarded as one of the most competent Alphas in the world and in the thirty years we’ve been married I can count on one hand the number of times she’s used her status to lay down the law on one hand.”

Derek frowned mulling it over.  He thought about everything his Mother had done over the past few days, trying to imagine what he would have done in her place and more importantly _why_ he would have done it.

“There.  You’ve got it,” he Dad said, clapping him on the back when he saw the smile spread across his face.  “I’ll call your Aunt Janet and see what’s she’s got available that’s suitable.  In the mean time…”

“In the mean time I’ve got a party to attend, don’t I?”

“I’d say so, Alpha Hale.”

He still was expecting the night to end in some kind of disaster, but now if he played his cards right it wouldn’t be _his_ disaster.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“No way.”  Stiles gaped as the limo driver opened the door for him revealing Derek in the back seat sipping a glass of champagne.  It was a little dramatic but if he wanted to make the right impression on the party guests the first step was making the right impression with his pack.

“Get in.  We want to be fashionably late not actually late.”

“Bossy,” the boy snarked sliding in next to him.  “Holy shit, Derek, you look…uh…you _shaved_.”

“I think you broke him,” Scott said clambering in with Cora and Laura on his heels.

“Looking sharp bro,” his little sister agreed.

“It’s our social debut,” he said with a shrug.  He’d suffered through enough black tie nightmares to invest in a good tux, but tonight he’ gone a step further with a shirt, tie, and vest all in shades of scarlet.  His triskele lapel pin and cufflinks were gold set with glittering red stones as were the simple stud earrings he’d put in and the slightly ridiculous watch he’d borrowed from Peter.  The jewelry wasn’t usual style, such as it was, but tonight he was aiming to stand out.

Stiles’ wide eyes bounced around from his clothes to his smooth cheeks to his hair gelled and mussed into casual rebellion.  The kid was definitely impressed but Derek was a little disappointed with his reaction.  A few days earlier all it took was getting within twenty feet of Stiles to make the teen’s heart race and his scent to ooze _want_.  He was surprised at his own vanity, at how much it bothered him that he’d gotten a more lingering stare from the _driver_ than Stiles.  Damn he really needed to get out more.  Maybe go to a bar and get hit on by some people his own age for a change instead of subsisting on the adoration of _jailbait_.

“I don’t get it.  What’s the big deal about this party anyway?” Scott asked confused by all the rigmarole.

“Everybody who’s anybody in Northern California would kill for an invitation to Talia Hale’s Christmas party,” Stiles answered.  “People come from all over to try and woo her political and financial support.”

“It’s more of a ball, really,” Laura said waving a gloved hand at her sparkling midnight blue gown.

“And it’s a lot more than that,” Derek continued, “The other California Alphas and their emissaries will be there.  It’s Mother’s subtle way of flaunting the success of her Assimilation Agenda.”

“You make us sound like the Borg,” Cora quipped.

“Resistance is fuUUUUUUUUtile,” Stiles howled.

“Are you having fun?  Listen up this is important.  There are some things you have to remember about interacting with wolves from other packs in front of humans.”

“I must have missed that chapter of Emily Post.”

“Stiles!”

“Shutting.”

“Here’s the plan.”

 

 

The limo dropped them outside City Hall.  The building had been constructed with money from the Gold Rush back when the Hales held events like this several times a year, and had a lavish ballroom perfect for the occasion.  There was a kind of dark humor seeing a couple of dozen werewolves milling around with the upper crust of human society.  The juxtaposition between the march of stately columns and polished golden marble floor made the lie they lived cut just a bit deeper.

 “Everybody ready?”

“I’ve always wanted a slow motion entrance,” Stiles drawled.

Derek looked towards the heavens and prayed for patience but as they started forward that damn song from the restaurant fight scene in _Kill Bill_ played in his head.  Whatever, a little extra swagger couldn’t hurt.

When they entered the ballroom all eyes turned to them exactly as planned.  Derek had never been so uncomfortable in his life.  Fortunately he was an expert at uncomfortable.  He led the way, Stiles escorting Laura behind him and Scott and Cora arm in arm behind them.

“Derek, my son, you look so handsome,” Talia greeted him. 

“Mother.”  She had really outdone herself, coiffed, powdered, and perfumed until she looked like she’d stepped out of a Disney movie in her full skirted blood red ball gown.  Maybe _Through the Looking Glass_ was a more apt metaphor.  Granted, only those in the know would imagine how casually she could declare “Off with His Head” or that she would do it herself with the razor claws hiding beneath her lacquered nails.

“Now that you’re here we can get things under way.”  From her knowing smile she was well aware why he’d chosen to be last to arrive and approved.  She clapped her hands twice, the partygoers clearing the dance floor immediately.  All the muckety-mucks of Beacon Hills were well familiar with this ritual by now even if they didn’t grasp the significance.  The band cut off the instrumental version of the _The Fray_ song they were playing as the Alphas met on the dance floor, all of them sporting significant amounts of red in their ensembles.

Derek took his place with the others.  At a nod from his Mother they selected Partners from the crowd.  She went first, gliding up to Stiles and holding out a hand, curtsying deeply.  He’d been told to expect this possibility but the boy still swallowed nervously before letting himself be led onto the floor.  Deucalion went next bowing to a petit redhead Derek recognized as Lydia Martin while an overly pretty young man with a livid black eye scowled at the two of them.  Then Ennis, who showed him his teeth before approaching Laura.  For the first time he desperately _wanted_ the Alpha spark.  So he could rip the murdering bastard’s face off and feed it to him.  He was going to have to wait in line if the death glare Kali gave her would be mate was any indication.  She stalked up to Scott who accepted her invitation looking like a deer in headlights.  Aidan chose Cora, his brother a burly boy of Hawaiian extraction which left the scowling pretty boy alone and fuming.  Finally it was Derek’s turn.  He bowed to Melissa McCall, who fluttered and hesitated for a moment before taking his hand.

Once they were all partnered up the band began playing _Oh Holy Night_ and the waltz began.  The pianist sang the familiar lyrics as they spun around dance floor all falling into sync like they’d practiced it.  By the end of the song even Ennis was beaming under the influence of whatever strange presence was floating lightly through the room.  The onlookers applauded thunderously as the dancers bowed to each other once more and made their way off the floor.

“That was amazing,” Melissa huffed breathily.  The tempo had not been a slow one and all the spinning had taken a toll on the humans.  “You’re a surprisingly good dancer.”

“Thank you.”  Compliments: Derek Kyrptonite.

“And look at Scott.  That Lydia is a wonder.  I’ve been trying to get him to cut his hair forever but she managed in one afternoon.  He looks so grown up.”

The Beta really did now that his face wasn’t half hidden by his unruly mop.  “Would like another dance?” he asked politely.

“Thanks but no thanks.  I have shift in a couple of hours.  The ER is always swamped during Christmas.  Excuse me.”  She made a beeline for the refreshments where Stiles was already slugging back a flute of champagne, understandably shaken from dancing with Talia.

“You seem to be taking to your new role rather well,” Deaton said coming up beside him.

He grunted by way of reply.

“How is Stiles doing?  Any issues?”

“As well as can be expected, considering.”

The emissary gave him a flat look.  “Indeed.”

“I’ve been sensing something odd, magical, something non-Stiles related,” he asked changing the subject.

“Yes.  Someone in the band seems to be projecting a subtle glamour.”

“What like a fairy?” His encounter with the shredding hex had left him with tiniest bit of antipathy for the entire race.

“More or less.  Many humans have a touch of Fae in their ancestry.  Typically it manifests as unusual charisma or increased awareness of the supernatural.  Usually it’s completely unconscious.”

“So there’s no…threat then?  We have enough problems right now.”

“No more than a typical human.  That extra sensitivity _can_ become an issue when…inexplicable things start happening.  Some of the hunter clans got started that way.  Although I doubt they’d care to be reminded of the fact.”

“I can imagine,” he muttered darkly.

He was spared getting sucked into a spiral of dark ruminations by Kali snarling at Ennis and storming out.

Deaton sighed.  “I better go find Julia.  Go.  Mingle.”

Derek watched the man shuffle off in search of Kali’s emissary, grateful that dealing with the frankly terrifying woman was not his job.  “This is all your fault you know, Uncle Duke,” he said sensing the Alpha hovering behind him.  “This “Alpha Pack” innovation was your idea.”

“Change is never easy.”  One day he was going to figure out where the hell the man’s accent was from.  “But we’ve gone almost eight years without a single human dying at the hands of wolf and the Hunters have all but been forced into retirement across the entire state.  I think it’s worth a little drama.”

“Why are the two of them so..?”  He mimed clawing someone’s face.

“Neither are willing to give up their status and leave their packs to be with the other, but at the same time they won’t allow each other to take a different mate.”  Deucalion rolled his eyes.  “Honestly if the situation continues your Mother and I will probably have to step in.”

Across the room Ennis shot them a murderous look before returning to try and convince a massively uninterested Laura to give him another dance.  Derek wished him luck with that.  When it came to his sister “willful” was an understatement, and while she undoubtedly enjoyed ruffling Kali’s feathers being a pawn in their jealous squabbling was game she was bound to get tired of sooner rather than later.  “How are the twins doing?”  He wanted to ask if they were still fusing into a giant Voltron wolf monster, but they were all of ten yards away.  He had _some_ tact after all.

“They’re young.  Malcolm was a terrible Alpha but Aidan and Ethan show exceptional promise.  I have faith that they will grow into competent leaders.”

“Faith?”

“Is that so odd?  We’re werewolves, Derek, not demons.  All the same I’d appreciate if you and your new pack would keep an eye on them.”

“Of course.”  Alpha high schoolers.  _Jesus_.

“I look forward to meeting them on the Wolf Moon.  Good luck.”

“Thanks.”  He was sure going to need it.

 

 

After an hour of handshaking and making polite noises about his work he was ready to crawl into a hole and pull it in after him.  Naturally he didn’t get a chance to make a dignified exit before things got complicated.

“How are liking the party big bro.”  Cora had spent most of night dancing with Scott, only stopping now that the band was taking a break.

“I’d like it better if you were wearing more than half a dress,” he grumbled.

“What this?”  She asked feigning shock.  The thin satin gown barely made it to mid thigh and looked more like a slip than a dress.  “I like the overprotective big brother Alpha schtick though.  It’s just precious,” she said pinching his cheek.

He swatted her off.  “Trying to get Scott’s attention?” he whispered evilly.

Faint pink blotches appeared over her cheekbones.  “He’s just so…Oh you have got to be kidding me!” she moaned desolately.

He followed her gaze over to Scott who was staring thunderstruck at a late arrival, a girl with dark curls and big brown eyes dressed in pale pink.  “Don’t overreact,” he said too quickly but it was useless.  He could sense the chaotic tumble of wonder and lust spilling out from Scott along the pack bond and mentally added a lesson on dampening emotional transfer to tomorrow’s training session.

“Overreact?  It took me _days_ to get to notice I’m alive and he takes one look at this…this _tramp_ and I cease to exist?   Who the hell _is_ she anyway?”

“Scott’s sixteen and new werewolf, making him see sense may take some doing.”

“Derek…”

“Give it some time he’ll come…”

“Derek,” she hissed.  “ _Look_.”

He shifted his eyes back to the girl or rather the tall blond man with pale, cold eyes standing next to her like he expected to fend off an assault at any moment.  “Chris.”

“Oh hell no.  My date is not blowing me off to go sniffing after a fucking _Argent_.  Excuse me.”  She shook out her hair, thrust out her chest and half stalked half slunk into Scott’s eye line.

“Cora!” he barked softly but she ignored him.  “Fan-fucking-tastic.  Oh now what?” he snarled when he felt Stiles’ nerves suddenly draw tight as piano wire.  He focused on the sound of the kid’s heartbeat.

“So you’re the little witch boy everybody’s talking about,” Ennis drawled.

“Yeah that’s me.  Abracadabra.  Alakazam.  Oh _darn_ , you’re still here.”

“You think you’re cute, huh?”

“I’m precious.  Have you tried the refreshments? I didn’t see any squirrel tartlets or rabbit finger sandwiches but the deviled eggs are pretty good.”

Derek sighed and hung his head.  He had better go rescue Ennis.  The thrumming sensation of unstable power coming from Stiles was unmistakable and if he didn’t diffuse the situation quickly the evening was going to take a weird and possibly bloody turn.

Someone else beat him to the punch.

“Whaaaat’s up?” the pianist asked sliding up next to Stiles and giving Ennis a toothy condescending smile.

“We’re just having a conversation.  Beat it asshole.”

The man put a hand over his heart as if wounded.  “Asshole?  Ouch.  Listen up you Alpha male douchebag,” he said in a quiet, dangerous voice.  “How about you take a walk.  Or not.  I could make a mint selling tickets to watch Mighty Mouse here pound you into a slurry of steroids and protein powder.”

“You have no idea who…”

“Yeah, yeah, cliché macho posturing blah blah.  Move along.”

Ennis stared at the hands shooing him away like he wanted to tear them off, but at a glance over his shoulder at an iron-faced Talia he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room instead.

“Are you okay, kid?  You were looking a little…homicidal.”

“Am I okay?” Stiles asked incredulously.  “What were you thinking?  That guy could have twisted us into a pretzel!”

“In front of all these socialites?  The _Mayor_?  I’m Carloss by the way,” the man said holding out his hand to shake.

“Stiles.  Wait, _Carloss_?  And “kid”?  What are you like twenty-five?”

Derek was just as nonplussed.  With the shaved head, heavy-boned skull, pale skin, and close cropped bright copper-colored beard the man looked more like more Viking than Hispanic.

Carloss sighed tiredly like he’d had this conversation a million times before.  “It’s my last name.  Spanish great-great-grandfather, etc.  And I’m twenty-two, actually.”

“Oh.”  Stiles edged away, snatching another deviled egg off the tray.

“So is it just me or is this place crawling with werewolves?”

Every wolf in the place tensed up.  Stiles gasped wide eyed and immediately began choking.

“Balls!” Carloss groaned.  “It was just a _joke_.  Hold on.”  He grabbed the younger man and spun him around putting him in the Heimlich maneuver.  One sharp thrust and the half a hard boiled shot out like a bullet bowling over a tray of champagne glasses with a crash.  He spun Stiles back around and patted him hard on the back a couple of times.  “So, _kid_.  Are you okay?”  Carloss rolled his eyes and sketched a mocking little bow as people applauded.

“Thanks.  Jerk.”

The pianist chuckled and shook his head.  “No problem.  My first shift as an EMT isn’t ‘til next week and already I’m saving lives.  I’ll take that as the universe smiling on my choice of vocation.”

Derek realized he was standing around listening to their conversation like a creeper and started making his way over to them.  It was time leave before anything else went sideways.

“Lucky you,” Stiles muttered dourly.

Carloss looked at him like he was trying to figure something out.  “You are way too…tense.  Here.”  He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a small green stone.

“What is it?”

“It’s a rock.  Carved in the shape of a bear.”

“Thank you Mr. Sarcastic, I can see that.”

“It’s a Zuni fetish.  It has great powers of grounding and healing.”

“Really?” Stiles asked turning it over in his hands.”

“Really.  Or that’s what the card next to the basket in gift shop in Phoenix International Airport said.  It’s never done much for me but I’m a big believer in the magic of the placebo effect.”

“Thanks?”

“Well, I’ve got another set.  Word of advice: chew.”

“I’ll remember that.  Thanks for the live-saving and bear-rock-thing,” Stiles called after Carloss as he walked back to the low platform the band was set up on.

“Are you really okay?” Derek asked when he reached him.

“Oh my God, _yes_.”

He listened to his lungs and heart for anything abnormal but they sounded fine.  “Good.  Still I think it’s about time for us to head out.”

“No kidding.”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“So…that was a blast right?”  Stiles attempt to diffuse the tense atmosphere in the limo was admirable but doomed from the get go.  He turned to his left.  “Cora, did I tell you how amazing you look?”  He looked right.  “Scott, doesn’t she look amazing?”

Silence.

“Champagne?  Anyone?  No?  Well more for me, I guess.”  He took a swig directly from the bottle.

“Maybe you should slow down,” Derek suggested.

“I’m hoping if I drink enough it will actually _do_ something.”

“Need the fortification in case you run into anymore cute pianomen, do we?” Laura teased.

“I wasn’t _flirting_ I was choking to death.  By the way, did you guys sense anything…off about Carloss?”

“What do you mean?” Cora asked.

“I don’t know.  I just got this weird feeling from him, kind of like body heat or something, I guess?”

“Deaton noticed it too.  He said he might be part fae,” Derek explained.

“Fae what now?” Stiles asked.  “Holy crap, was he really joking about werewolves or does he actually _know_?”

“His heartbeat was steady.”

“That’s comforting,” Laura drawled. 

Stiles grinned wickedly at her.  “Speaking of _comfort_ , you spent an awful lot of time chatting up poor Ennis after Kali left him all alone.”

She shuddered.  “I’m not surprised there’s no women in his pack.  Ick.  Besides, Cora’s the one that got an Alpha’s phone number.”

Derek narrowed his eyes at his little sister. “Oh?”

She raised her chin defiantly.  “At least someone’s interested.”  Poor Scott looked like he wanted to sink through the floor.”

The earrings had been a constant irritation for Derek all night so he went ahead and took them out, pricking his earlobes with his claws to stimulate the healing process and close the holes.  It distracted him from the desire to hunt down Aidan and _open_ a few holes in _him_.

“Yeah, that was a different look for you,” Stiles commented.

“I was trying to make a certain impression.”

“You mean you wanted to look like a cocky tool?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, all good then.”

The scent of blood flooded the limo, human blood.

“Stiles, your nose.”

Dark crimson running down the boy’s face, standing out stark against the crisp whiteness of his dress shirt as it dribbled down onto his chest.

“Holy shit, ugh.”  He floundered around, slinging small drops of blood before simply shoving the end of his tie in the bleeding nostril.

“Dude, you’re really bleeding,” Scott whined nervously.

“S’ogay. Ah dink ibs stobbing dow.  See?” He pulled the tie away.  No more red trickled out.

“Let me look,” Derek said duck walking awkwardly over to Stiles in the cramped confines and tilting his head back.  “I don’t see anything, although it’s hard to tell through all the blood.”

“I’m in awe of your diagnostic prowess Dr. Wolfy MD.  Uh, where are we going?” he asked looking at the unfamiliar street sliding by through the window.

“It’s a surprise.”

“My last surprise involved a werewolf reveal, a mind-melding spinal tap, and the unlocking of funky mystic weather machine powers.  Forgive me if I’m a little skittish about _surprises_.”

The limo started slowing down.  “Too late, we’re here,” he said with a smile as they turned up a long driveway, coming to a stop in front of a large colonial style house.  “Come on.”  He got out of the car and led the others to the front door, unlocking it with one of the keys his Dad had slipped him during the ball. 

“What is this place?”  Stiles asked taking in the open floor plan and sleek modern furnishings.  “It looks like Christian Bale’s apartment in American Psycho.”  He spun around and put a hand over his heart.  “Gasp!  Is this where you kill me?”

“I think if he was going to kill you he would have done it days ago,” Scott joked. 

“Yeah, _no one_ has this much patience,” Cora added.

“I hate all of you.  That’s it, time to abandon ship.  The Twins seem nice in a Children of the Corn kind of way.  Maybe they would actually appreciate all my awesomeness.”

Derek grabbed him as he fake-stormed towards the door.  “Easy on the dramatics.  This is our house.”

“Why Derek, are you asking me to move in with you?  So soon?” Stiles asked batting his eyelashes and trailing his fingers suggestively over Derek’s chest.

“Knock it off,” he growled.  “This is our _pack house_ , our den.”

Scott looked a little weirded out by the pronouncement.  “Uh, I already have a house.”

“Maybe you should go there,” Cora muttered.

Laura flicked her sister on the ear in reproof.  “It’s not the same thing.”

“I know your _family_ has a house.  But _we_ are a family now too and this is ours.  This is our safe place, somewhere just for us.  No matter what you can always come here.”

“That’s…amazing, Derek.  Thank you,” Stiles said awed.  The gratitude and affection on the boy’s face was humbling.  “You know Mrs. Martin is an interior designer.  Maybe Lydia could…”

“Ugh!” Cora screeched, storming up the stairs.  A door slammed a couple of seconds later.

“What do you know, it feels like home already,” Laura mused.

 

Home.  _That_ was what being an Alpha meant.  Maybe he wasn’t going to totally screw this up after all.


	9. Growing Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles learns a secret about Derek and actually keep it.
> 
> Pack training gets interesting when Stiles gets pushed too far, and even more interesting when a surprise guest drops in.
> 
> After an emotionally trying evening complete with a run in with the new Sheriff, things come to a head with Stiles' increasingly dangerous powers.
> 
> Derek makes a bargain that could put the lives of everyone in Beacon Hills in danger.

_“But why can’t we be together?” Serena asked with tears in her eyes as she took Stephen’s hands in hers._

_“Because I’m a werewolf.  You’ll never be safe with me.  I’m not…good enough for you,” he said, pain  spasming across his face like the words were tearing their way out of him and ripping his insides apart in the process.  “And my brother…”_

_“I don’t care about Darren.  I love you, Stephen, only you.”_

_A howl tore through the night, full of agony and rage_.

 

“I can’t believe you’re actually reading that,” Derek grumbled sleepily as he shuffled past the couch toward the kitchen.  _Fangs and Hearts_ slipped out of Stiles’ hands and landed on his face when he saw the werewolf wearing nothing but a teeny tiny pair of black trunks that looked like they’d been spray painted on.  From the unselfconscious the man was moving Stiles suspected the only reason he was wearing that much was because the house was only half stocked and didn’t contain the necessary tools to get them off.  Like a crowbar and a jar of Crisco.  How was he even _walking_ in something that tight?  No wonder the man was always frowning.  “You could have at least put the coffee on.”

“You could have at least put the clothes on!”

“Why, see something you don’t like?”  Derek’s half-asleep attempt at Bitch Face was _adorable_.

“No!  I mean, Yes!  I mean…shut up!”  Stiles hid his flaming face behind the book.  Stupid sleep-tously-ridiculously-hot-Sourwolf _asshat_.  He lay back down on the couch and tried to focus on the book.  It took him almost a minute to realize it was upside down.  He grunted in frustration and threw it on the coffee table.  “You know it’s really not that bad, at least the first one.  The next twenty of them are just the author raking in obscene piles of money.”

“Hm.”  Derek Hale: master of dazzling conversational skills.  At least the happy gurgling of the coffee maker promised caffeine in the near future.

“I mean, the whole love triangle thing is like the world’s _tiredest_ trope but the werewolf mythology is really original, if totally wrong.”

“Hm mm.”  Progress.

“I totally didn’t see that twist at the end coming, when it turned out Stephen’s ex Karen was really the daughter of the leader of the Knights of Aurelius and tried to kill pretty much everybody in town.  Magic Springs is a ridiculous name by the way.”

“Stiles,” Derek pled, “Take your Adderall, or at least wait until after my first cup of coffee.”

“And then it turned out she’d been with Darren too and he shows up at the last second and impales her ironically with her own sword…”  He trailed off with a strangled noise and slowly sat up to stare at Derek who was looking everywhere but at him and blushing over every inch of excessively exposed skin.  “No way.”

“Stiles, please.”

“ _You’re_ Dylan Hoechlin, reclusive author!?  Great pseudonym by the way.”

“ _Stiles_.”

“Why don’t you use your real name?  Probably ‘cause looking like you you’d be ripped apart by screaming teenage girls every time you went anywhere public.  And seriously man?  _Clothes_ , please, before I develop an inferiority complex.”

“Fine,” the werewolf snarled.  “When I come back we are not talking about this anymore.  _Ever_.”

“You betcha.”  Stiles could hear his own excited pulse in his ears.  It sounded like: _Lie lie, Lie lie, Lie lie, Lie lie_.  This was the most amazing thing _ever_ , and there was no way he wasn’t giving Derek a hard time about it for _at least_ the next couple of decades.  Or at least, that was the original plan but every time he thought up a snarky question to embarrass the man with the answer was obvious.  The painting thing hadn’t been Derek’s favorite so Stiles’ Mom would undoubtedly have suggested another artistic medium instead of a shrink and a bunch of drugs. Peter or Talia probably sent a copy to a publisher behind Derek’s back and voila, the most cringeworthy teen sensation since _Twilight_.  The Hales were unbelievable.  Then again, his nightmares had shown him exactly what they were up against trying to get their wayward wolf down out of the attic.  He shuddered as Kate’s laughter echoed around in his memory.  At least didn’t see her again the night before.   Of course that was because he hadn’t _slept_.

Derek took his time before coming back, unable to resist the pull of the Dark Roast Side.  Today he was dressed in clothes that bordered on colorful: worn jeans and a white beater under a light-weight leather jacket made of cobalt suede.  “What happened yesterday when you went shopping with Lydia that’s making everyone act like..?”  _Character’s in your books?_

Stiles grimaced.  “It wasn’t really Lydia’s fault it was her boyfriend Jackson.”

“The DA’s kid?”

“Yeah.”  If only Peter’s library had contained a spell to open the pits of Tartarus.  Of course with his luck he would have tripped and fallen in himself.  “He was giving me a hard time, you know, about my Dad?”  Derek tensed up, eyes unsubtly scanning the room for signs of impending magical chaos.  Scott had been blabbing, apparently.  “Anyway, uh, right around the time the jackass dropped the O-bomb a tie rack came to life behind him.  Cora stepped in and slugged him before he could get Kraken-ed into a bin of discount jeans.   And let me tell you, for Jackson Whittemore the bargain denim would have worse than the strangulation.  He probably would have burst into flames on contact.”

“I see.” 

“Why did Deucalion pick Lydia for the weirdo wolf dance?  I thought you said it was a really big deal politically or whatever.”

“The Martin’s have a lot of connections in San Francisco, which is in Uncle Duke’s area of responsibility.  Mother and the other Alphas have had a hard time establishing influence in the major cities.”

“But if werewolves don’t control the cities what does?”  Derek gave him a level look.  “Oh!  _Other_ things.  _Other things that were at the ball!?_ ” he squeaked.  What good were these supposedly amazing powers if the supernatural mob or whatever could literally waltz by under his nose without him noticing?  “So you can’t take over because something else already has control?  Is it vampires?  Trolls?  Merpeople?”

The werewolf’s face closed down.  Evidently he had nothing more to say on the subject, the jerk.  It was amazing that such a prolific writer couldn’t seem to speak without the veins in his neck popping out from frustration.  “Big cities aren’t really…”

“In line with your wolfy idiom?”  Derek gave him the old death glare, sadly he’d become immune days ago.

“We couldn’t hold them even if we wanted them.  It would take an Alpha for each city and the only five in state already have their hands full.”

“I guess the Twins only count as one,” Stiles murmured to himself thoughtfully.  “Hey wait, that doesn’t make any sense.  Aren’t there a lot more werewolves than that?  Why are there so few Alphas?”

“They don’t exactly grow on trees, Stiles,” the man drawled sourly.  “Most werewolves these days are bitten, not born.”

“I thought there wasn’t any difference between the two.”  He was getting sick of this.  It was torture having a chaotic ball of arcane knowledge without any experience or context to make sense of it with.  Part of him wished he had claws so he could go and suck every last schemey, twisty scrap of _understanding_ out Peter’s smug head.

“It’s a pack thing.”  Derek said that like it explained everything.  “Speaking of which.  You need to go pick up Scott and meet me and the girls at my parents’ house.”

“What!?  _Why_!?”

“Training.  Don’t worry we’re just parking there.  We can’t go walking around on…on their territory unsupervised but the place we’re headed is just over the boundary line so…”

Stiles wanted to give the poor guy a hug but sensed he would have smacked upside the head if he tried.  Fortunately he had a tried and tested way to shock anyone out of a funk.  Annoyance.  “Training?” he whined.  “What like sit?  Fetch?  Will there be obstacle courses.  Oh I know, sheep herding?  I’m not even a werewolf what am I gonna do, levitate them into their pen?”

Derek looked especially constipated, like his frustration with Stiles was warring with some other emotion he was trying to conceal.  “Enough with the dog jokes.  And you don’t have to be a shifter to be a good fighter.  Just not a total klutz.”

“Come on, I’m not a _total_ klutz,” he said indignantly.  “Besides what’s the rush?  Isn’t the Charm Bracelet of Destiny helping Scott stay in control?”

“There’s no rush…”

“Then why…”  He was starting to get pissed off but the was a nagging sensation that something was off.  Like he’d been expecting something to happen…

“I thought you might like to be tired out and relaxed tonight,” Derek grumbled looking down, interrupting Stiles’ train of thought.

Oh.  Now the fact that the guy wasn’t (visibly) wearing a single stitch of black seemed more like the gesture it was than a curiosity.  Best not to dwell in any case.  “Uh, yeah.  I think that’s…a good idea.”

“Okay.  You get Scott and get some breakfast.  I’ll get the Two Terrors.”

“Cora and Laura not morning wolves, huh?”

Derek looked at the staircase like a man about to walk to the gallows.  “Not really, no.”

“Well, since I don’t super healing powers I’ll just head out now.”

“Okay.”

At least Stiles didn’t think he had healing powers, but he had a sinking feeling he was about to find out.  The front door closed behind him just as the snarling started upstairs.  He was surprised to find his jeep sitting there in the driveway.  Talia’s Helpful Hale minions had been at it again.  _Pack_.  Something about the way Derek had said that was bothering him.  Whatever.  Maybe one of the werewolves could literally knock some sense into him today.  He wasn’t holding his breath.  Then again, he did leave the book on the coffee table and didn’t say a word to Scott about Derek’s secret identity.  _Progress_.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“I’m surprised the puppies didn’t bury me alive as soon as we parked in the driveway.” 

“Please don’t call my siblings puppies,” Derek said absently.  It seemed he no longer really had to pay attention to Stiles to know when the jokes were coming.  They were becoming so close it was touching, really.

“He promised them to deliver you after training when you were too tired to run away,” Laura said while Cora snickered behind her.

That was vaguely alarming.  He had an image of being shackled to the Story Corner in the Public Library while a semicircle of fanged children watched him hungrily, waiting for him to finish reading aloud to them so they could have a _snack_ before naptime.  Creepy.  At least it was a nice day for walking in the woods.  Overcast but still bright.  Cool but not really cold.  The temperature had returned to the low fifties, perfectly typical for a dry Northern California winter.  He managed to stop himself from thinking the words “I guess the worst is over now” just in the nick of time.  After all, if werewolves, fairies, and reluctant teenage witches were real who could say about the Fates?  It would make a nice justification for his persecution complex.  “Where is this place?”

“Here.”

The clearing perfectly circular and about fifty yards across.  Instead of deep leaves the ground was covered with springy turf about six inches long, yellowed and withered due to the season.  “Wow.  Do you guys play Lacrosse?” Scott asked.  “This place would be awesome for a pickup game.”  One.  Track.  Mind.

“We play some…different games here,” Cora said with an evil smile as she started stripping down to her workout clothes.  Stiles figured he knew who would be handling Scott’s introduction into the wonderful world of werewolf martial arts.

“Don’t worry.  Hardly anyone ever dies,” Laura added.  Together the sisters almost looked like twins, or possibly fugitives from a Tae Bo video.  Unfortunately the view was wasted on the all the dudes present.  Derek was their brother, Scott waited for any opening to wail forlornly that he hadn’t gotten Allison’s phone number, and Stiles…what the _hell_?  When did two of the hottest girls in town become shrubbery as far as his libido was concerned?  _“Pack,”_ Derek’s voice taunted him in his mind.  Maybe his subconscious was just sparing him the brutal and inevitable consequences of combining “out of his league” with prolonged, _extremely_ close contact.

“I think we take it easy on Scott since it’s his first time,” Derek allowed.

“Hey, what about me?” Stiles asked.

“No mercy,” all three Hales intoned in unison with identical smirks.

“Wow, that was kind of creepy,” Scott observed.  When three sets of eyes glowed and narrowed at him he quickly backtracked “Never mind, I mean, Stiles totally deserves it…or something?”

“Thanks, dude, really feeling the love.”

“This clearing is one tenth of a mile in circumference.  For a warm up we’ll run four miles without stopping.”

“Four _miles_!?” Scott and Stiles wailed.

“Go!” Derek snarled.

They ran.

 

 

One Bataan Death March later Stiles collapsed on the ground, babbling through four miles worth of runner’s high.  “Run, Stiles, run!”  He giggled.  “Wait!  I _am_ in the _forest_.  My name’s Forest, Forest Stump, I mean Stiles, Forest Stiles ‘cause I burned down… I mean…anybody got some water?”  Okay so his Southern accent was bas but he didn’t think it really merited a bottle of Evian in the gut.  “Ow!”

“Stop whining.”

“Yes, Arnold.”

Derek was less than amused by the comparison, but his sisters burst out laughing.  The stupid unfair werewolves were barely sweating.

“Finally, Stiles is done!  What next, what next?”  Scott was bouncing like…well an eager puppy, and apparently was a little too caught up in the thrill of running through cold air without keeling over dead to care his supposed best friend had melted into a puddle of sweat at his feet.  Stiles wished he was less loyal and understanding so he call the guy a jerk.

“A sparring exercise.  The goal is to get your opponent’s shoulders on the ground.”  Derek demonstrated with Laura.  It was a terrifying ballet of violence.  The twins flowed over the grass exchanging blows with human hands and feet at a rate Stiles could barely see, not trying to actually land a hit so much as create an opportunity to knock the other off balance.  Suddenly Laura spun down at ninety degrees, doing something with one of Derek’s wrists that had him spinning through the air like a top to smash into the ground with a pop as his shoulder dislocated.  If it bothered him it didn’t show when Laura threw herself on top of him to finish the job.  There was a flurry of limbs and snarling but the brother’s larger mass and leverage prevailed and it was Laura whose upper back hit the ground as their positions reversed.  She put her brother’s shoulder back in and helped him in up all in one smooth motion.  “See?  Cora take Scott, I’ve got Stiles.” 

Scott’s mouth was hanging open catfish style in shock.  Stiles had been suspicious of how well the guy had been handling things so far, but whatever industrial strength denial Scott had been using was quickly being washed away.  Which was the point of this little outing.  “Uh, I don’t think I can fight a girl.”

Stiles winced.  “Wrong thing to say, dude.”

Cora narrowed her eyes at her ex-crush.  “No, you _can’t_ fight me.  Time to get your ass kicked, McCall.”  Scott let out a small “Meep!” of surprise as she grabbed him and simply threw him ten feet through the air to land flat on his back with a wheeze.  Revenge 1, Scott 0.

“Uh, couldn’t we get someone else to spar with me?” Stiles asked nervously.  “How about Will?  He’s looks like a strapping young werewolf.”

“He’s eight,” Derek said with a frown.

“You mean: he’s eight and could bench press me.”

“If you really think you’re so fragile it’s best not to coddle you, don’t you think?  I mean, if you want to get stronger?”

“Damn it!” Laura snarled, “I left the popcorn in the microwave!”

Stiles smelled a rat.  About two milliseconds later he smelled the dirt as Derek took round one while he wasn’t paying attention.  The Fates were _definitely real_ , and as cruel as everyone said.  He’d spent an embarrassing amount of time imagining being pinned under a sweaty shirtless Derek.  The reality fell a bit short.

 

 

Thirty-six painful impacts later Stiles finally lost his cool. 

Cora and Laura were taking turns with Scott.  The older sister preferred fluid moves and grappling techniques, no doubt learned by necessity through a lifetime of fighting with her much heavier brother, while the younger favored brute force and sheer viciousness.  The poor guy was massively outclassed.  It made Stiles’ soon-to-be-bruises ache a little less watching.

“Focus!” Derek snapped.  “When you’re fighting an opponent that’s stronger and faster than you you have to outsmart them.  Wait for the right opening or make one yourself.”

“Stronger and faster?”  Stiles asked, anger rising.  “Derek you’re not “stronger and faster” you’re a fucking werewolf, a soon to be _Alpha_.  If you wanted to rip my spine out with two fingers there’s not a damn thing I could do stop you so how about you back the fuck off.”

The man stared at him for a moment like was figuring something out.  “No.  Again.”

This time it was a little different.  Stiles’ embarrassingly slow and clumsy attack wasn’t met with some Judo move from hell but claws raking across his face instead, leaving a trails of fine cuts.  He stared at Derek in shock but the werewolf just shrugged as if to say “I guess you were right”.  Stiles wasn’t dumb, and the Hales were all terrible actors, but it didn’t make him any less furious that they pulling a _Talia_ on him, trying to provoke him just so he could access his as yet undefined abilities.  How had they gotten _Scott_ to go along with this?  And _today_ of all days.

Good intentions be damned; the douche!wolves were going to get their wish.

Something in him snapped; he could have sworn he heard ice shattering, like a glacier about to drop a shelf of ice the size of city block into the sea.  The cuts on his face vanished like they’d never been as he attacked again, but this time he met Derek’s counter with one his own.  Stiles had some self-defense training; his Dad had insisted on it, but he’d never even _seen_ some of the moves he using.  All the same it felt as natural as breathing.  As he pressed his attack he realized just how much Derek had been holding back.  No matter how much speed he poured on or force he put behind his strikes the man was always a fraction faster and stronger.

Stiles saw red.

As they fought that hot rubber feeling of exertion fell away as his body, his senses, everything, focused into a sharp, gleaming whole like the edge of a blade.  Then he saw it: his opening.  It was small, a half inch diameter area on Derek’s ribs but Stiles knew exactly where and how to hit.  One tap in the right spot and the rib would fracture at the perfect angle.  It wouldn’t be a serious injury for a werewolf.  Unless he followed up with a knee to the side in the split second before healing began.  The second blow would send shards of bone directly into his enemy’s heart, killing him instantly.

“Stiles!” Scott’s warning cry was barely a sob but it worked.  Maybe it was body language or the murderous expression but Stiles’ best friend had seen something that terrified him.  Instead of ending Derek he rolled off to the side, came to his feet, and put long bounds between himself and the werewolf while trying not to pass out at the sheer horror sweeping through him while Kate chuckled in his imagination.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked, walking over slowly with his palms up like he approaching a dangerous animal.  Stiles wished the metaphor was less accurate.

“I’m fine.”  It wasn’t really a lie; he felt calm, centered, and incredibly powerful.  He just also wanted to throw up and go hide somewhere.

 “So this is what people do for fun in Beacon Hills,” Carloss drawled, leaning against a tree at the near edge of the clearing with an elaborately carved walking stick resting in the crook of his arm.  “ _Fight Club: Jack London style_.  I’ve been here for four months now and I swear this town gets weirder and weirder by the day.”  The werewolves were completely taken off guard and nearly shifted out of pure surprise.

“This is private property,” Derek aid bristling with hostility.

The newcomer was unimpressed.  “Actually, the _Hale_ property line is half a mile south-south-west of here.  I hike in these woods a lot, what with all the _free time_ I’ve had lately.”

Stiles was shocked by the venom in the young man’s voice, especially how his mouth twisted with disdain over the name Hale.  The pieces suddenly fell into place and he knew what he had to do.  “You want next?” he asked.

Derek grabbed his arm and hauled him over a few paces for a less than private conversation.  “Are you insane?  We don’t know anything about this guy except that he may be connected to the Fae!  Haven’t we had enough problems for one holiday season?”

“Exactly.  Combat is an ideal axis for observational analysis.”  The man stared at him like he’d started speaking Urdu.  To be fair Stiles had no idea where the hell that little nugget of wisdom had come from.  “He somehow snuck up on four werewolves.  We need to know if he’s a threat or whatever.”  He left out the part about the entirely reasonable grudge against the Hale family.  Besides, what he really wanted to know was why he hadn’t felt any of that burning pressure since he’d accepted the bear totem, and if this guy had any answers about his out of control power.  He walked back over to Carloss.  “How ‘bout it.”

“Sure, why not.  Moderate contact, but nothing to the head or face.”  It sounded casual but Stiles got the distinct impression the guy was simultaneously thrilled and terrified at the offer, suspiciously so, but it was hard to tell for sure. 

Carloss was of a height with Derek and not quite as trim but for every extra pound of fat was at least another of muscle and bone.  The dude was built like…well, a bear.  “Two-thirty-five.”

“Huh?”

“You were sizing me up.  I’m six feet tall and weigh two hundred and thirty-five pounds.”  He took off his off the unbuttoned brilliant green button down shirt and stood there in just his black tank top and cargo shorts (And who carries a walking stick on a hike but doesn’t wear _shoes_?).  The guy wasn’t fat by any means but every about him just looked _heavy_.  He bowed formally, left foot sliding forward, right hand in a fist rolling below and behind his left palm.  Stiles didn’t recognize the style but it was obvious Carloss had at least some martial arts training.

He copied the motion.  Then he attacked.

The guy was incredibly strong and fast, but it was a _human_ level of incredible and Stiles had spent the afternoon training with superhumans (and may or may not be one himself).  The weird thing was he couldn’t get a read on his opponent like he could on the werewolves.  That strange sense of not-heat the guy had radiated the night before was gone too.  It had to be some kind of obscuring magic or glamour but it was subtle and nothing at all like the spells in his WikiPetera (a name the smarmy wolf would never, _ever_ hear).  All the same it was going to be over soon.  They were moving like it was the final fight scene in a kung fu movie and Stiles was bored.  It would be over already if Carloss would stop giving ground…

That razor focus returned and Stiles saw what the other guy was doing: allowing himself to be driven back to where his heavy walking stick leaned against a tree, a stick that was about the length of a long sword with a leather wrapped grip at the right level for a hilt.  It was a trap.  Derek was going to be pissed but Stiles smiled inwardly.  It was also going to be _fun_.

He played along, ready to disarm Carloss the moment he grabbed the sword-cane but naturally it went nothing like he expected.  Instead of drawing steel and attempting murder him the older boy dropped pack into a low stance and brought the sheathed blade into a high guard.  The strike that would have disarmed him struck an invisible wall.  _Mountain Ash!_   There was a blinding flash of violet light, a smell of ozone and hot wood, and Carloss went tumbling backward tail over tea kettle like he’d been hit by a freight train, to land on his back thirty feet away, body folded back on itself before his feet fell back to the ground with a final sounding thud.  For a second Stiles was terrified he’d killed him. Until the guy started singing woozily.

“California here I come!  Right back where I started from…” the lyrics trailed off into groans and cackling as Carloss stiffly pulled himself up to sitting like a drunken mummy rising from its tomb.  “That.  Was.  AWESOME!!!”  The pack, which had been rushing forward to help, took a cautious step back at the maniacal gleam in his eye.  “Magic is _real_!?  And the Hales really are monsters!?  I guess that explains that smell.”  The werewolves all growled at that.  “Last night at the ball I was like “These people move like predators.  They’re either a kung fu school or a pack of werewolves.”  I was _so_ depressed when I found y’all sparrin’.”  Stiles had apparently knocked a country accent into the poor guy which only got worse as the speed of the delighted babbling picked up.  “Ha ha!  Dr. Zimmerman can stick his Schizoaffective Disorder in his DSM-IV and smoke it!  Your nose is gushin’ blood by the way.  Aw hell, damn accent’s back.  Sorry, happens when I get a excited.”

Stiles swiped a hand over his upper lip.  It came back _covered_ in pale red.  “Not again.”

“Dude, are you okay?” Scott asked, looking progressively more unnerved.

He turned to look at him over his shoulder.  “I’m fine.”  When he turned back Carloss was _right there_ and scooped up some of the blood on his thumb before Stiles could even flinch.

“ _Fine_ might be a bit of a stretch,” the man said rolling it between his fingers like he was testing the consistency and giving it a curious sniff.  “You’re leaking cerebrospinal fluid through your nose.”

Scott, of course, rounded on Derek.  “What did you do!?”

“ _Me_?  I didn’t do _anything_.”

“That’s not _entirely_ true,” Carloss corrected.

“It’s the magic, isn’t it?” Laura asked quietly.

“I’m not sure _magic_ is the right word.”

Cora had apparently had enough.  “Isn’t anyone curious about _who the hell this guy is_?”

“No one of consequence,” the man muttered reclaiming his stick and sliding the inch wide blade out a little to make sure it was okay.

“ _No one of consequence_ ,” Cora mocked as she flicked out her claws.  “Damn right.”

“Easy,” Stiles said with a placating gesture.  “Do you know what all the,” he waved a hand at his bloody shirt, “is about?”  The bleed had stopped in seconds just like before but an alarming amount of blood had poured out.

“CSF with a bloody nose is a classic sign of _head trauma_ ,” Scott growled at Derek who sighed, shook his head, and went back to glaring daggers at Carloss with an odd expression on his face.  If Stiles had to name it he’d call it the “Now where’s the best place around here to hide a body” face.

“He’s not concussed,” Carloss said shrugging into his shirt at a leisurely pace like he wasn’t surrounded by hostile werewolves.  “He’s _dying_.”

A cold feeling gathered in the pit of his Stiles’ stomach.

“What do you mean _dying_?” Cora snarled.

“Don’t growl at _me_ Fidette.  It’s his own fault.”

“Stiles hasn’t done anything wrong!” Scott said coming to his defense.  Derek was conspicuously silent and expressionless, which may have been the most terrifying sign possible under the circumstances.

“I’m sorry, did you think playing around with Dark Magic was _good_ for one’s health?”  Carloss’ voice dripped sarcasm.  He turned to face Stiles.  “And seriously, kid, what in the name of the Divine Light did you _do_ , summon Hecate and then _eat_ her?”

“What do you mean?” he asked in a flat monotone, realizing too late he’d dropped a straight line in front of someone with an obvious flair for the dramatic.

“This,” Carloss said grabbing his wrist.  The man raised his other hand like a conductor directing an orchestra into a bold crescendo.  Wind exploded into the clearing from all directions carrying a bow wave of dead leaves that swirled around in mini cyclones that sent the werewolves staggering.  It only lasted a second before he dropped to one knee, slamming his open palm down on the ground.  The screaming hurricane vanished and leaves fell like stones in a perfect pattern around the six of them, or rather the five of them.  Carloss stepped outside of it while the rest of them stood there agog.

Stiles found himself in the middle of a huge shape he recognized as a Celtic five-fold knot.  In their floundering around the others had managed to get into the perfect position, each standing dead center in one of the four exterior loops.  “Wow, that was…wow.”

“ _That_ was _nothing_.  Your strength is _inhuman_.  The power inside you is ripping you apart; it’ll take any avenue it can to relieve the pressure.  When I touched you last night it felt like I’d bit into a live wire.”

Something tickled in his memory.  “You!  You were the bear in my dream.  That thing you just did with your hand…you were…grounding out the energy, showing me who stopped the blizzard and the windstorm that, uh…somebody called.”

Carloss rolled his eyes in an eerily Hale-like way.  “Yeah, thanks for all that by the way.  I never really _believed_ , you know?  Then all of sudden there’s magical storms flying around, black magic so thick in the air I can _smell_ it, and teenagers yanking my consciousness out my body while I sleep and turning me into forest animals.  I thought I was losing my frickin’ mind.”

“I think you’ve got your tenses mixed up,” Cora grumbled, hopefully too low for Carloss to hear.

“Please tell me Torquemada’s biker-chic little sister was a figment of your imagination.  Werewolves I can handle but if _she_ is real I’m gonna be hiding under my bed for the foreseeable future.”

“Uh…”  Stiles tried desperately not to look at Derek or give any indication he’d been dreaming about Kate. 

Carloss seemed to pick up on his panic and took mercy on him.  “In any event, I’ve never had much patience for vendettas.  I’m way too ADD for that.  So I’ll be on my way and consider the five of us even, with my apologies to you, Scott, for the inconvenience.”

“What inconvenience?” Derek asked nonplussed.

Cora stalked forward angrily.  “You’re not going any-ack!”  She slammed into an invisible wall.

“Oh, and Stiles, I’ll look into a way to sort out your imminent spontaneous combustion.  I just signed the lease on my new place so please try not to level the town in the meantime, and _hold on to that totem_.”  Carloss turned and walked off into the trees with another word, leaving the five of them to explore their predicament.

“I’m going to kill him!” Cora shrieked at the leaves forming the knot.

“I don’t think those are the magic words that open the circle,” Laura drawled.

Scott seemed to be enjoying his time as a mime.  “This so cool.  Can you do stuff like this?”

Stiles knew how.   Whether or not he _could_ …

“No,” Derek said firmly.  “No magic.  Tomorrow we’re going to see Deaton to sort this out.”

“Sort this out” sounded like it meant “strip his power” which was _so_ not happening.  There had to be a way to get it under control.  “I don’t trust Deaton.”

“And you trust that guy?” Cora asked incredulously.  “He trapped us and left us for dead.”

“What was he saying about vendettas?” Scott wondered aloud.  “I get why he was pissed at Stiles but why the rest of you?”

“Thanks buddy,” he replied drily.  “Last night he told me his first shift as an EMT is next week but he today he said he moved here four months ago and _just_ signed a lease.”

“Oh…I get it,” Laura said shaking her head and chuckling under her breath.  “Hale family nepotism strikes again.”

“You mean like a dictatorship?” Scott asked confused.

Derek rubbed his knuckles in his eyes.  “It means that when our cousin Sean the paramedic decided to move back into town with no warning last August, Mother pulled strings at the hospital to get him a job, apparently the one Carloss moved here for.”

“You mean he’s been unemployed and homeless for _four months_ because of your Mom?  Wow.  You guys got off easy then.  So what, he’s some kind of witch or something?”

Stiles shrugged.  “Beats me.  Was he telling the truth when he said he said he didn’t believe before?”

“Yes,” Derek said simply.  “That doesn’t mean we can trust him.  That sword was silver plated and it had a couple different kinds of blood on it.”

“Human?”

“Animal, but it was old so it’s hard to be sure.”

Laura frowned.  “He mentioned a psychiatric history, but it couldn’t have been too bad if he passed the FBI background check for medical professionals.”

Cora snorted at that.  “Not that bad?  He’s just a crazy guy who runs barefoot through the woods cutting up small animals for fun, no trouble there.”

“It smelled like deer and mountain lion to me.”

“So what’s your diagnosis Dr. Laura?  You haven’t even finished your degree yet.”  Stiles automatically edged away a little.  He had a bit of problem with shrinks.  It said something about what his life had become that he was more comfortable with _werewolves_.

Laura appeared unruffled by her sister’s jibe.  “He’s got mixed blood, right?  Obviously, he knows a lot about the supernatural.  That’s a bad combination all on its own.   If the rest of his family are regular humans…” 

She didn’t have to finish.  Scott in particular looked sympathetic, undecided as he was about his mom.  Stiles figured he was lucky (not) that he didn’t have that particular problem.  Carloss had been able to sense his magic or whatever when even _Deaton_ couldn’t.  He couldn’t imagine how awful it would be to grow up with that kind of sensitivity to a world nobody else could see, much less believed in.  It would definitely be enough to make a person a little…unhinged.  He was also jealous.  _He_ apparently had the all the mystical awareness of a grilled cheese sandwich. 

“Fine, the guy’s had a hard knock life, but what do we _do_ about him?” Cora asked grouchily.

“Hey!” Stiles said with an excited clap of his hands.  “Maybe we should ask him if he’s into twins!”

“Hilarious,” Laura said.

“Stiles…” Derek growled.

“How do have, like, eighteen different versions of my name?  Come on. It’s a good idea.  Aidan and Ethan need an emissary or whatever and this way he’ll be close enough for you to creep on and lurk in suspicion to your heart’s content.”

“Those _are_ two of your favorite pastimes bro,” Cora said sweetly while Scott tried to cover his smile with a cough.

“In the mean time I’m adding him to the list of people who can never meet your Uncle.”

“That would be a _disaster_ ,” Laura crowed, delighted by the idea of the supernatural chaos that would no doubt ensue.

Derek shuddered a little.  “Beyond that he’s not our problem.  _I_ will put him in touch with Deaton.  He’s clearly dangerous.”

“Is he?” Scott asked.  “He kind of seemed to need Stiles like a battery or something.  He can’t be that tough if he just found out about all this stuff, can he?”

“Just found out it was _real_ ,” Stiles corrected.  “A lot of people _practice_ magic that don’t really _believe_ in it.  Without that it won’t really work.  Even if he doesn’t have a lot of power he sure as hell has a lot of skill.”  He kicked the invisible wall of their prison by way of demonstration.

“Uh, by the way, how are getting out of this?”

Everyone looked at Stiles.  “What?”

 

 

It took about twenty minutes for him to recite every spell, charm, and incantation of unbinding, hex-breaking, and purification he knew.  Nothing.  The werewolves tried forcing their way through, digging down under the lines of leaves, and a great deal of strong language (Cora).  When they finally gave up they couldn’t even call for help because their cell phones were with their stuff just twenty feet away.  It might as well have been the surface of the moon.  Pretty soon they would be forced to endure the humiliation of howling for rescue from the Hales, something that probably go down in mortifying legend and retold at every Hale family gathering for _decades_.  Assuming, of course, that anyone who came to help could actually _break_ the barrier.

“There has to be a way out,” Scott groaned.  From the way he was fidgeting around he clearly _really_ had to pee.  “Stiles is human.  I thought seals only kept in werewolves.

Laura shook her head.  “That’s Mountain Ash.  I don’t think these leaves are anything special themselves.”

“But if he’s so powerful he’s going to literally explode how come he can’t, you know, magic his way through.”  Scott suddenly looked stricken with guilt.  “Not that you’re going to explode,” he backtracked, “Deaton’ll fix you.”

“Like a stray dog,” Cora added helpfully.

“Har har.  And I don’t know what’s keeping this thing up.”  The truth was he had no idea how to channel his power at all.  At least not on purpose, and he didn’t want to risk working himself up into a frenzy and bleeding out through his nose.  Talk about embarrassing ways to go.  “I’ll be okay.  The bear thingy really seems to help.”

“The totem!” Derek cried triumphantly, making them rest of them stare at him like he’d lost his mind.  “Carloss said your power was dark.  The way he talked about black magic…”

“Like he’d never use it himself,” Stiles finished.  He slapped himself in the face.  “Stupid!”  It was so obvious, not to mention disconcerting.  He pulled the small carving out of his pocket and carefully tossed it out of the circle so he could watch where it fell.  When it hit the wall it slowed but made it through.  “Now for the hard part.”  He put his hands on the barrier and found it yielding to him like heavy clay.  With a grunt of effort he pushed through and reclaimed the totem.

“And us?” Derek asked testily.

“Hold on a sec.”  The trap was designed to contain dark power, its energy filtered out from Stiles through the purifying power of the turquoise.  The bear was positively charged but its link to dark-infected Stiles (he was going to have to spend some time thinking up less deseased sounding euphemisms) was enough to confuse the barrier once they were separated.  It was ingenious, and made Carloss’ parting warning about the bear all the more hilariously evil.  Stiles would have done the exact same thing.  It was too good a practical joke to pass up.  Now that he was on the outside…He walked to Derek’s circle and tossed him the figurine before sliding his hand through again.  “Come on,” he said with a gimme motion of his fingers.  The Sourwolf looked at the hand like it was an angry cobra but took it reluctantly.  Stiles may have pulled him across the line with more force than necessary.

“Thanks,” the man said gruffly.

“I am awesome as well as benevolent,” he agreed.

“A “you’re welcome” would be fine.”

“Stop flirting and let us out of here!” Cora demanded.

“We are not flirting!” they yelled in unison.

They left her for last.

At least the main goal of the disastrous little outing was a success: Stiles was exhausted on multiple levels and had managed to go the whole day without thinking about he had to head next, but there was not putting it off any longer.  It was time to head back to the Stilinski house for the last time and get things set up.  It was time to say goodbye to his Dad.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

He wasn’t sure if it counted as a wake when there wasn’t a body, just an urn full of ashes, but there was definitely enough whiskey being drunk to make up for the difference.  Stiles himself was abstaining, not that he really needed it, the evening passed in blurry haze without any help.  There wasn’t going to be a grim march through a bone yard or some ghastly memorial where people in ill-fitting black suits said a bunch of nice crap they didn’t mean.  Someday soon he would take his Dad’s ashes up to the sea cliff where they scattered his Mom’s.  Since it was too far a trip to make on a regular basis there was also a marker in the cemetery next to his hers “for when you need somewhere to sit and talk” she’d said.  He was infinitely grateful his Dad had set all this up ahead of time.  The pack tried to give him as much support and physical affection as they could in front of so many oblivious humans, but just then he kind of wanted to feel alone, to start to really get used to the idea. 

His parents were gone.

His parents were gone, he was a magical human in a werewolf pack, and he might himself be a pile of ashes in the near future if couldn’t figure out how to control his supposedly epic(ally unreliable) powers. 

There was one surprise amid the toasts and raucous Sheriff stories from the deputies.  He had his first conversation with an Argent.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Chris told him.  It was hard to tell whether or not the man was being sincere.  Those piercing ice-blue eyes gave him nothing but the chills and a feeling of being x-rayed.  Or possibly laser-targeted.

“Thank you?”  He threw a nervous glance in Derek’s direction hoping the guy would get the message and stay back.

“Your _friends_ can relax; I’m not…on duty, tonight.”  Oddly the masterfully subtle shading and emphasis wasn’t all that comforting.  “I wanted to tell you in person that I’ll be taking over as Sheriff.  It seemed better than letting you hear it secondhand.”

Stiles was reeling.  In what way was that better?  In what universe was that okay _at all_?  It was a sick joke.  He’d lost the last of his old family and now his Dad’s job was going to the man that ran an organization whose sole purpose was to hunt down and bisect his new one.  “Get out.”

“Shame.  Whatever Alan says it was inevitable that you’d get involved in this business.  I had hoped that you would have made the same choice your father did.  If you ever need to talk to someone more _sympathetic_ you can call me, day or night.”  Stiles had a feeling “sympathetic” was code for “same species”.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked after Chris had left.

“Fine.”  He was anything but.  Hell, with the amount of anguish and distress the wolves were no doubt sensing from him it was a wonder they were upright.  They hadn’t had a few days to get used to it.

Melissa disengaged herself from another seriously unwanted guest, Scott’s Dad, and made a beeline for them.  Mother’s had their kind of supernatural sixth sense.  “Derek, why don’t you take Stiles, erm….home.  I’ll handle things here.  Scott and the girls can stay and help with the…well, you know.”  She seemed reluctant to say the word packing, like it might be the final straw before his epic public meltdown.  What she thought about his new living arrangements, Stiles had no idea.

“Thanks Mrs. Call.”

“I think it’s about time you started calling me Melissa, Stiles.”

“Thanks Mrs. McCall,” he repeated with the grisly corpse of a grin.

“Okay then.”  She smiled sadly and squeezed his shoulder gently.  The brief look she shot Derek was neither sad nor gentle, but instead promised wrath and ruin if he failed Stiles in the smallest way.

Derek steered him out the front door.  Later he couldn’t remember if he even made it to the car before passing out.

 

 

He opened his eyes what seemed like a split second later to find himself in a dark space, but instead of the cramped confines of the Camaro, or the clean but impersonal furnishings in his new room, he saw the dim outlines of the metal superstructure of a vast building.  It was pitch black save for the light of the Full Moon filtering through a spiral of gouges in one of the metal walls.

“This is where it started,” Kate said next to him, “It seemed kind of right to bring you here tonight.  Tonight it ends.”

Stiles knew this place.  It was the old distillery, the set of one of his many Stiles & Scott misadventures.  A particularly memorable one involving fireworks.  At the time the weird spiral had seemed exotic and mystifying.  Now that he knew what it was it filled him with dread.  It was the sign for vendetta, carved into steel with a werewolf’s claws.  “It doesn’t ever end.  Revenge is a cycle, you psychotic bitch, but I’m done with you, with all these crazy ass dreams.”  He walked out the open door without looking back at her.

“Done?  Oh honey, no.  You’re my weapon.  My Dad sacrificed his life for this just like yours.  Sacrifice is power.  Use it.  Make our Daddy proud.  You already succeeded where I failed.  Derek will never see the bullet coming when the gun’s in _your_ hand” 

Thunder rumbled over head.  For the first time he could really feel the power, not just throbbing inside him but all around.  There was magic singing in earth beneath his feet, the clouds over his head, and the wild beat of Kate’s heart.  The last heart that should be beating when his Dad’s was a pile of dust in a fancy vase.  “Use it?  Alright.”

The first bolt of lightning shredded the roof like tissue paper and set the interior ablaze.  Kate stood there silhouetted by the flames, mocking him with her laughter.  He brought down another and another and another until the continuous rumble of thunder drowned out the hateful sound.

Carloss shimmered into being in front of him and grabbed him by the upper arms.  “Stiles you have to stop!  Wake up!”

“It that it?” Kate called from inside the inferno.  “Can’t say I’m impressed.”

“Get out of the way Carloss.  I’m done letting people like her walk all over me.  Never again.”

As the charge for another blast built up Carloss hefted his sword-cane.  “Have it your way.”  He struck the ground with the sheathed weapon a la Gandalf as Stiles brought down his strike.  The blaze of light didn’t strike the distillery.  Instead it lit up his own body like the Fourth of July and shattered the dreamscape.

 

 

“Get him downstairs, quick!” Carloss snapped at someone over Stiles’ head.  From the scent of leather and woods he was guessing Derek.  Also, he couldn’t move a muscle.  Not that it mattered.  While the two men carried Stiles back inside from the small balcony outside his room his perspective remained in place.  He was able to turn and _watch_ them vary him.

“Well that can’t be good.”  If anyone had been around to hear his disembodied voice he was sure he would have instantly been nominated for understatement of the year.  He looked at himself.  His body seemed solid enough but when he tried to grab the door handle his hand went right through.  After a stunned second he felt a jerk at the level of his naval that pulled forward.  Apparently his spirit was on a short leash.  Stray dog indeed.

He was dragged downstairs just in time to see himself layed out on the kitchen table.  Stiles had never been super image conscious but he had to admit he’d looked better.  His skin was bone white and slick with sweat where he didn’t have trails of blood.  They were coming out of his nostril, his ears, even his eyes.

“You said his was going to spontaneously combust!” Derek accused.

Carloss looked torn between the impulses to slap Derek silly and run away screaming.  Stiles was starting to doubt the guy had the mettle for EMT work.  “It was a _guess_ , and a hyperbolic one at that.  I was wrong before.  He doesn’t have inhuman _levels_ power; the power he has is inhuman in _origin_.  It’s not compatible with his body.  He’s rejecting it like a failed organ transplant.”

Stiles moved closer so he could get a better look.  What he saw made him want to scream. 

He could see that warm feeling Carloss sometimes gave him a steady glow of emerald light with streaks of gold.  Around him like a double image was the figure of the bear Stiles had seen him as in the dream, except that there was some hideous crossbreed of medieval torture device and a dog’s shock collar around its neck.  The animal face did not look happy.

Derek looked even more disturbing.  His Beta shape overlay his human features radiating a cool blue that reminded Stiles of ice from wild North.  But behind the man was the flickering image of huge, hulking black beast.  He had kind of been hoping those wood engravings of Alphas in Peter’s library had been embellished.  Guess not.  Whenever the beast appeared red cables of energy zipped off into space, one going directly into him.  He was actually seeing the pack bond.  _The Astral Plane!_   Whatever Carloss had done had kicked him out of his body.  And the guy said he wasn’t into revenge.  Lies.  He didn’t want to see what he looked like here where magic was visible; he had a feeling it wouldn’t be pretty.

“Not pretty” was a comical understatement.

His body was blazing like an emerald sun coated in bubbling black sludge that kept trying to resolve into a something, a hideous face, maybe.  The light shining through the muck was gentle and steady but roiling and flaring, and every so often a gap would appear showing a pulse of soft white, his natural energy trying not to be overcome by the endless green.  It was a hopeless fight but he was proud that his body had lasted this long. 

The worst thing though was his own after image.  The bloody roots from the painting, the ones he now recognized as coming from the ancient stump in his old hidey hole, were wrapped around him like an octopus.  Their ends were groping mindlessly for somewhere to spread to.  They didn’t seem interested in Derek but looked like they really wanted to burrow into Carloss like was made of yummy potting soil or something.  Every time they got close a flash of searing white drove them back.  A rosary, wrapped around the man’s wrist, overlaid with the image of red blossoms.

There was one other source of light.  Shining blue-green from inside his pocket was the little stone bear as it desperately tried to keep healing the damage.  Every time another bleed started it stopped in seconds but it couldn’t last.  He already looked thinner as body cannibalized itself to replace the lost blood.

“There has to be a way!”  Derek ripped the marble counter top off the kitchen island and sent flying on a path of destruction through the living room.  If the weather turned cold again they’d have plenty of kindling but a terrible lack of furniture. “I could try to turn him.”  The werewolf sounded desperate, almost crazed.  Stiles felt guilty.

“God, no.  Another source of contamination is the absolute last thing he needs.”

“Did you just refer to my kind as a _contamination_?”

Whatever snarky comeback Carloss had on deck was lost when Laura, Cora, and Scott came crashing into the house.  They took one look at the guy standing over Stiles’ bloody body and shifted with a chorus of howls.

The singer-pianist-EMT-sorcerer-martial artist was all over it, grabbing Stiles’ hand and pulling a portion of that emerald light into himself.  “Bad dogs.  Play dead.”  To Derek it probably sounded merely scathingly sarcastic.

On the Astral Plane it was a little bit different.

Emerald light filled the room in a blinding flash as the words “play dead” rolled out in a continuous peal of thunder.  It looked the same on both planes when the three werewolves dropped in place and immediately began to snore loudly.

“What did do!?” Derek snarled.

Carloss gave him a flat look, eyes flashing green werewolf-style.  “They’d only be in the way.”  He must have still been using a bit of mojo in his voice because Derek just nodded and glared some more.  “I’m sorry, but short of killing him there’s no sure way to remove his power.  Ow!”  A spark of electricity had jumped from Stiles’ hand to his at the suggestion.  Way to go body.

“It’s insane but he’s set on keeping it.  He…he doesn’t want to be weak.”  Like Derek was feeling right then.  “Can’t you just ground the excess energy out like did before but bigger?”

“I could but she’s fighting me.”

“She?”

“Kate Argent.”

Carloss couldn’t have gotten more of a reaction if he’d run the man through with his silver blade.  “She’s dead.  I killed her.  How do you…”

“Know for certain it’s her?  I consulted the mythic auguries.”

“Really?”

“No, you hairy palmed nitwit!”  Derek’s face would have been priceless any other time.  “Stiles looked so freaked when I brought up the woman I saw in his nightmare I went and Googled the lot of you.”

“She can’t be back.”

“Oh she’s not.”  Stiles would have thought that was good news but as Carloss spoke his face was its grimmest yet.  “It’s not just his body that failing it’s his psyche too.  The darkness that seeped into him when took on this power has no place inside a human heart so his mind molded it into something less alien than whatever it was before.  A Nemesis.”

“Can you exorcise her or something?”

Carloss started laughing hysterically.  “One impossible task per near death by conjured lightning storm please.  Besides, there’s no getting rid of her when she’s got access to that much power.  The hold is too great.”

“Is there anything you _can_ do?”  Derek had run out of anger and looked like he was about collapse.  “Is there time to get to a hospital?  There’s a druid…”

“Medicine won’t work.  Even if this so-called druid and I worked together we couldn’t counter this kind of power long enough to do any good.  Also, I’m just an occult theoretician; I rarely do actual spells, just write my grimoires and practice the skills.  Western, Judeo-Christian stuff almost exclusively; High Magick.  My ancestors were into that Celtic mumbo jumbo but it’s nothing that I’ve really studied since it went underground a long time ago.”

A desperate flicker of hope lit up the werewolf’s face.  “Deaton, the druid, he said you can glamour, that you have fairy blood.  Is that Celtic enough?”

The man looked at him like he was insane.  “I don’t think those two are two inherently related.  Unless the ancient kings were actually Fae but…Son of a bitch!  Royal blood!”  Carloss was literally bouncing with excitement.

“ _You_ have royal blood?” Derek asked dubiously.

“Just a smidge but for my idea to work that’s all we need.  “The King and his Land are one”.”

“That’s a quote from _Excalibur_ not a life saving incantation.”

“Whatever, the point is I can anchor him to the spirit of the land.  This place used to be powerful.  Even now I can hear its whispers, that’s why I decided to settle here.  It seems…inviting.”

Derek looked more than mildly alarmed but resolute nonetheless.  “What do we need?”

“There’s a place in the preserve.  It’s miles in but if we can get there it should work.  I’ve been preparing it for months for a different purpose that’s in the same general area of magic.  I’ll carry Stiles, you bring that tree-in-a-jar on the windowsill.”

Derek grabbed Orin the bonsai which was glowing soft emerald in the waning moonlight streaming through the glass.  “How are you going to carry him that far fast enough?”

Carloss grinned wolfishly.  “I’m holding a hundred and sixty pound can of magical Red Bull.  Trust me, you’ll be the one who has trouble keeping up.”

 

 

They took the Camaro to the trailhead at speeds that would make a NASCAR driver faint.  Stiles let himself be dragged through the air like a kite instead of riding in car.  If not for the whole dying thing it would have been the coolest experience of his life.  Carloss kicked off his shoes in the parking lot and darted into the trees like an antelope on speed, blazing like an emerald comet as he tapped Stiles’ power to lend him speed.  True to his word the guy had slow down periodically so Derek could catch up.  In no time at all they came to a stop in small meadow tucked into a shallow valley deep in the forest.  A circle of small boulders inscribed with squiggly symbols Stiles couldn’t recognize sat in the middle, shining with crystalline opalescence that made him think of starlight for some reason.

“This is it.” 

When Derek tried to follow the circle flared with angry white light, stopping him cold.  “What in hell?”

“Sorry, no monsters allowed.”  Carloss carried Stiles back out of the circle after depositing his sword-cane and Orin in the center.  “A few things before we do this.  First, I may have some cool ancestry but Beacon Hills is barely my home.  Stiles’ idea of home and family is currently under renovation.  It’s going to come down to you to make this work.  Focus on your heritage, your family, happy childhood memories, chewing on forest critters, whatever makes you feel _connected_ to this place, what makes it _home_ , and what gives you the _right_ to claim it as yours.  Understand?”

Derek nodded but his face was a picture of “overwhelmed”.

“Second, during the ritual there will be a period where Stiles’ power is out of his body.  Part of the nature of Dark Magic is self-concealment but it will be temporarily exposed after I purify it.  Every remotely supernatural creature or person will be able to see it if they look for it and many will sense it whether they do or not.  Even after I put the energy back in Stiles some will always echo here.  The stone circle should be enough to hide this place but the things that the rituals stirs up will still hear the call of the land much like I did.  Things could get hairy around here for a while and it will be your responsibility to keep things in check, alright?”

“Understood.”

If Stiles were corporeal he’d be kicking Derek’s ass so hard.  Ultimately though, he didn’t want to die, he didn’t want to see his Alpha crumble right his in front of him with his last breath, and this was the only way.

“Lastly, I need consent for this to work and Stiles is in no shape to give it.  You as Alpha need to do it.”

“Done.”

Well that was a bit presumptuous.

Carloss shook his head.  “It’s not that easy.  I need you to show me the eyes.  You have to _mean_ it with every scrap of your power and authority.”

“I can’t.  I’m not _really_ an Alpha yet I…”

“Hey!”  Carloss stepped closer and shook Stiles’ limp body.  “Look!  Look at him!  Do you want to stand there and watch your boyfriend die or do you want to Alpha up?”

“He’s not…”

A tentacle of energy lashed and struck Derek across the face in a disembodied slap.  The younger man stepped forward so that Stiles was pressed between them, half held by the both of them.

“Spare your rom-com crap and choose damn it!”

The werewolf’s eyes burned crimson as the spectral image of the Alpha around him stopped flickering and solidified, the flows of red power connecting the pack became almost solid bars of Las Vegas neon.  “Save him.”  Derek voice was barely human and echoed with absolute authority.

Carloss nodded solemnly.  “The bargain is struck.”  Before the Alpha could respond he grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss, sealing the deal.  Stiles was glad there wasn’t a lot of blood left in his body.  He wasn’t sure how strong the connection was between his displaced consciousness and his physiological responses but now would be a majorly humiliating time to have a reaction to the sight of the two muscular men lip-locked with his body still between them.  Fortunately it lasted only a second.  “So mote it be.  Now stand back, focus, and pray this doesn’t kill all three of us.”  He stepped back into the circle and lay Stiles down on the ground.  After hurriedly planting the tiny sapling in the center he returned carrying the drawn blade from his cane.  Derek started forward as he stabbed the palm of Stiles’ right hand. 

Yep, there was still pain even when you weren’t in your body.

Carloss took the bloodied blade back to Orin and let the glistening ruby drops fall on the leaves.  He flicked the sword to clear it and slid it back into its sheath.  “Now the hard part.”

Stiles would spend a lot of time later trying to reconstruct what happened next.  A translucent copy of Carloss separated out and began racing about the circle drawing symbols, directing energy flows, sending spheres of elemental energy flying around, and generally turning the meadow into laser light show.  Derek probably only saw the man standing there stock still mumbling Latin and humming out Names.  The Astral view was a lot more spectacular and occasionally terrifying.  When he invoked the Archangels Stiles _saw_ them briefly, or at least a visage of them.  When he called to the Divine Light a burning golden beam of it shot down out of the heavens like night had suddenly ceded to day.  It was only a transient manifestation of what Carloss was picturing in his mind but it was incredible to watch, particularly because of the _speed_ of it as the man did in minutes with his mind what would have taken most of an hour in the flesh. 

Soon the circle was ready, a swirling vortex of emerald energy lit from above by golden radiance.   The man turned to face Derek.  “One Disney Princess joke and I’m out of here.”

“Huh?”

“Just watch.  Oops! Almost forgot.”  He unbound the rosary from his wrist and put it over Stiles’ neck.  “Sorry Kate, you’re not invited to this party.”  The black sludge formed a dozen grasping hands and tried to claw the man but were hemmed in by a cocoon of pure white light.

Carloss started to sing.  Stiles couldn’t understand the words but the intent was clear: he was asking the land itself for help.  Every word and note spun a thread of energy off into infinity, weaving a tapestry of idea and memory centered on the oak cutting, binding the whole of the lands history, its life, to this one point in space and time.  It was beautiful and terrifying.

The grand finale was more so.

The song changed, rising in pitch and tempo, becoming both joyful and beseeching as he flung a hand back at Stiles body.  The glow around the bear totem brightened until it was a point of emerald light so intense incorporeal eyes couldn’t look directly at it.  The verdant energy arced into Carloss’ hand, turning his gentle green aura into a searing corona of power that wrapped around the bloody sapling and sunk into it.  Stiles didn’t need to understand Latin to know the meaning of the word that began to dominate the lyrics as the Magician’s song reached its crescendo.  It was a command that echoed out from the circle with pulses of irresistible force behind every repetition.

 _Grow_.

The earth, the actual _physical_ earth began to tremble and shake as the tiny tree drank in the power it was being fed and became…not so tiny.  It was less like one of those fast-motion videos of plants growing than it was a superspeedy green and gray volcano.   In moments the tremors stopped.  What had been a small forest meadow was now a thin area of disturbed ground surrounding a massive white oak the likes of which hadn’t been seen for in America for centuries.  Its trunk was over ten feet in diameter and there was no way to even estimate its height.  It was also so full of sizzling emerald energy it looked like was on fire.  For a moment the image of the bear overlaid Carloss, the horrible electrified iron collar glowed orange and shattered.  The man took what sounded like his first easy breath in years.

Stiles looked over at Derek who was caught somewhere between wonder and horror.  “Nemeton,” he whispered in awe.

That word _burned_.  There was something there but it was like the memory had been dipped in battery acid.  Stiles was going to be the first schmuck to ever get a migraine without a head if he didn’t stop trying to think about it.  He could wait and Google it when he had fingers again.

“Yeah, neat huh?”  Carloss sounded a bit woozy.  “The power’s in the tree now but I can’t hold it there for long.  Do you see what I meant about spontaneous combustion?”

Stiles was surprised he hadn’t gone up in a mushroom cloud.

“Of course, now I have to put it back.”  He staggered over to Stiles’ body and placed a hand on its bloody, sweaty head.  A pulse of green swept away the injuries and sank deep into the tissue, probably fortifying it for the next part.  “Sorry kid,” Carloss said looking right at him as he floated there.  “I can’t funnel the energy back through your body it’s…occupied.   I’m gonna have to push it back in through your spirit to keep it from getting polluted right away.”

“Can he hear you?” Derek asked quietly.

“Course he can!  He’s floating right there.”

Way to instill confidence dude.

“Where was I?  Oh, this is really going to suck.”

Pain is not the right word for having your essence boiled in magical energy.  Pain is for nice, pleasant things like torture and being burned at the stake.   Carloss kept up a constant stream of apologies as he funneled all the power into Stiles’ spirit as fast as he could.  When there was only a trace left in the great tree, like foxfire glowing in the branches, he broke the connection and with a shout and a downward sweep of his hands threw Stiles’ Astral Body back into his physical one.

 

Stiles sat up with a gasp, eyes wide, but it was a lot harder to see with mortal eyes with the Great Oak blocking all light from above.  Derek rushed over and knelt beside him.  “Are you okay?”

“I’s sso ssick of people asking me jhat kestion,” he slurred.  “And you!” he said pointing at Carloss who was grinning goofily and swaying on his feet.  “You need to lighten up.  And maybe kiss Derek again so I can get it on video.  He he.  Sourwolf and Glarebear.  Sounds like Furry porn.  S’not really my thing but you two’d make a killing with me as yous manager.”

He had just enough time to see Carloss’ eyes rollup into his head before he passed out himself.  Maybe Derek wasn’t as forgiving as the young magician because the last thing Stiles heard was the meaty _thunk_ of a body falling to the ground with no one to catch it.  Then again, Carloss had been super harsh and Derek was an Alpha now for real.

So maybe everybody got off easy today.


	10. New Year's Eve-il

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five days after the events in the preserve Stiles starts his training with Deaton while Derek and Carloss struggle to keep the Nemeton and the full extent of his power hidden. A little bit of pack bonding turns terrifying as an uninvited guest changes their party plans.

The air under the Great Oak seemed to sparkle with green-gold light and carried a sweet smell that had an almost narcotic effect, filling Derek with a sense of peace and wellbeing.  It made his hackles rise anyway.  He turned in place slowly so Carloss would have a chance to do his sudden appearance bit.  The guy was an insufferable tool.

“Lord Hale.”

He managed not to flinch this time at least.  The magician was standing behind him wrapped in a voluminous hooded black robe that left his face shadowed, his hands folded atop the sword-cane that apparently doubled as a magic wand.  A _magic wand_.  “What are you wearing?  And don’t call me that”

Carloss sighed and threw off the hood.  “It’s traditional, and I’m going to need every advantage I can get if we’re going to pull this off.  I’m only…”

“Only a theoretician, yeah, you keep saying that but Stiles told me about what he saw during his out of body whatever.”

“And you refuse to see the writing on the wall, _my Lord_.  You’re not just an Alpha now.  In Beacon Hills you are _the_ Alpha.  This territory belongs to you on a level I don’t even really understand.  It’s the nature of the covenant you made with the land in order to save Stiles.”

Derek wanted to knock the guy out and write “Fine Print” across his forehead in Sharpie.

“How is he, by the way?  Any more nightmares?  Strange occurrences?  Unintended castings?  Residual bleeding?”

“Nothing, he’s doing fine.”

That got him a condescending snort.  “Fine for someone whose life is only being sustained by a magic tree.  I give him a year, tops.”

He was beyond sick of all this magic angst.  “What about that book I gave you?  There was supposed to be something in that could help.”

Carloss paled and shuffled his feet uncomfortably.  “My French is a little rusty but I think I managed to translate it more or less accurately.”

“And?”

“And I’m edging toward terrified.  Half of me is still convinced I’ve finally gone off the deep end and this is all some kind of delusional episode.  You remember the barrier I trapped you in?”

“Kind of hard to forget,” he replied evenly.

The guy looked massively unapologetic.  “That symbol, the five-fold knot?  I didn’t mean for that to happen.  I was only trying to make a _circle_.  I think Stiles’ subconscious was trying to send a message, a clue.  The book referenced an ancient dark ritual for gaining power by human sacrifice.  It’s…”

“Evil.”

“It’s _unthinkable_.  Fifteen souls.  Guardians. Philosophers, Virgins, Healers, Warriors, three of each.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.  Stiles hasn’t exactly been on a killing spree recently.”

“Still, it’s somewhere to start.  _Something_ terrible happened.  There has to be an explanation.”

“What about the Nemeton?” 

“Well if you could give me more information about what happened when it was destroyed…”

“I already told you it was burned.  Beyond that…I wasn’t there.  I was recovering from a fight.”

“Then I don’t know, Amazon doesn’t carry _Dark Druidic Rites for Dummies_ , I checked.  My best guess is it was involved _somehow_.”  He gestured at the gargantuan tree.  “It’s no accident all the elements necessary for its reconstitution came together.”

Derek felt a chill despite the unnatural warmth generated by the Great Oak.  “You mean someone’s manipulating us.  Someone _did_ this to Stiles?”

“It’s _possible_.  But it might have been the will of the Nemeton itself.”

“It’s a tree,” he said flatly

Carloss shook his head.  “No.  The tree is just an anchor.  Power like that…it’s like a living thing, a consciousness unto itself.”

“But it’s a _tree_.”

“And you’re a twenty-four year old man that turns into a giant hybrid wolf creature with glowing red eyes.”

“Point taken.”

“Right now the priority is keeping Stiles safe and I don’t trust these so-called emissaries.”

“Deaton’s advised my family for years.”

“And he’s a Druid.  If I’m anything I’m a Magician.  I may not be an initiate but I’ve sworn binding oaths preventing myself from dabbling in the more…questionable practices.  Helping you is pushing it as it is.”

That didn’t jive with what the guy had said before.  Derek narrowed his eyes and took a small step forward.  “You said the reason you didn’t practice was that you didn’t believe.”

Carloss stood his ground, lifting his chin defiantly.  “Maybe I didn’t _want_ to.  I _occasionally_ try out some of the rituals I create.  That bear fetish I gave Stiles isn’t just a totem it’s a talisman, an enchantment of my own design.  Keep in mind nobody actually _taught_ me this stuff; I worked it out on my own.  I saw things in movies or read things in books I thought were cool and tried to work out how I’d make them work in “real” life.  It was just supposed to be a mental exercise, a game.  But I’ve also spent a lot of my life feeling weak and powerless and sometimes I’d figure out how I could… _fix_ that.  I should think a werewolf would understand what it’s like to be afraid of what you might be capable of if you lost control.”

Derek regarded him in silence for a moment, wondering if he’d grossly underestimated just how dangerous the young man standing in front of him was.  He decided it didn’t matter, at least for now.  Once Stiles was safe then…he could reevaluate.  Of course, there were plenty of other reasons the guy unnerved him.  “You know I think that’s the first time you’ve called me a person instead of “dog”, or “monster”, or “contamination”.”

Carloss grimaced and looked down.  “Sorry about that.  I have a tendency to lash out when I’m scared out of my mind.”

The apology sounded genuine but all the same the young man seemed more than a little conflicted.  He was going to have to make sure the magician never crossed paths with Chris Argent.  Historically when White Magicians and Hunters got together it didn’t end well, unless you liked Crusades and Inquisitions.  All the more reason to throw the guy a bone.  “No hard feelings.  Are you sure you can hide the tree?” he asked changing the subject.

“Honestly, no.  Tell Stiles he’s got two hours max before he has to pull the power back out of the Nemeton before it starts drawing in every bit of nasty on the west coast like a homing beacon.”

“Why do we need to do this in the first place?”

“I separated his power from the darkness that infected him when he took it in.  For now he’s safe from not!Kate but without it he’s exposed.  The amulet I made for him will hide his aura from casual scrutiny but it won’t hold up under prolonged examination by another practitioner.”

Derek felt weirdly comforted by Carloss calling not!Kate “it” instead of “she”.  Stiles’ reluctant description of his dreams and the visions he’d had on the Astral Plane were haunting him on multiple levels.  “Are you still going to teach him how to conceal himself the way you do?”

“I promised I would try, but it’s something I wasn’t even aware I was doing, like the glamour-singing-thing.  He’s a smart kid but this kind of thing is intuitive.  I’m going to have my hands full as it is trying to figure out a conditioning regimen that will strengthen his body enough to handle the weight of his power before it starts killing him again.  Not to mention figuring out how the close the door he opened between our minds.  At least now that the balance has been restored I’m not getting attacked by wild animals every time I set foot in the woods.  This sword is supposed to be ceremonial _only_.”

“Where did you learn to fight like that anyway?”

“I studied under the Shao-Lin Elder Masters.”

“You went to China?”  Who _was_ this guy?

“They live in Denver, actually.”

Of course, why not?

“And I’ve never seen _anyone_ that fights like Stiles.  Skill and ability like that…It’s what makes me so sure his power has something to do with that ritual.”

“And you still don’t know where the power came from?”  He ground his teeth and braced himself.  Carloss had a way of giving him three more questions for every explanation.

“Only that it’s not human.  You’re the first supernatural creature that I’ve met.  Well, the first I’ve _known_ was supernatural.   If I run into someone or God forbid some _thing_ that’s on the same frequency so to speak I’ll let you know.”

Derek remembered something he must have been suppressing out of apprehension.  “Speaking of running into people, Stiles wanted me to invite you to come with us to my family’s house for New Year’s tonight.”

Carloss laughed outright for a minute or so before trailing off into nervous silence.  “You’re serious? He asked finally.

“Unfortunately.  He thinks it will be less suspicious if everyone meets you at a time of our choosing instead of when something goes horribly wrong.  As usual he has a point.”

“And you plan on explaining me how?”

He couldn’t help smiling a little.  “There’s a pair of teenage Alphas finishing out high school here before they start rebuilding their own pack and they don’t have an emissary of their own yet.”

“ _Re_ building?  Do I want to know what happened?”

“They happened.”

This time the laugh was slightly hysterical.  “Of course.  Volunteer as a Big Brother for homicidal teen wolves.  Why didn’t I think of that?”

“You don’t have to…”

“No, I’ll do it.  It’s a little late to start worrying about that pesky death wish of mine.  Wait a second, your family’s house?  They fixed it already?”

Derek shrugged.  “Structural damage is an occupational hazard of raising a family of werewolves.  We’re all pretty good with a hammer.”  The enhanced strength didn’t hurt either.

“Please tell me it’s informal.  My ball gown’s at the dry cleaner’s.”

“Casual is fine, but consider wearing shoes,” he said with a pointed glance at the bare toes peeking out under the hem of the magician’s robe.

Carloss scowled.  “I _do_ have shoes.  You’ve seen me wear them.  I just move better in the woods barefoot is all.”

“Uh huh,” he replied skeptically.  “You might want to consider shaving your head; it’s a little hard to explain.”

“Screw that.  I haven’t been able to grow a full head of hair since I was nineteen.   I’m not doing anything that might scare it away.”

Derek smirked as the guy ran his fingers through his hair like he was reassuring himself it was still there.  “On your own head be it.”

“Since when do you have a sense of humor?”

“Just be at our place at seven.”

Carloss snickered at him.  “Our place?  And yet you insist you’re not a couple?”

He rolled his eyes and walked away instead of dignifying that with a response. Why was everyone so ready to believe the worst about him?

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“You ready for this?” Stiles asked nervously when they got to the clinic.

“Me?  What about you?”

“I’m good.  Fine.  Giddy even.”  The boy went back to attacking his fingernails with his mouth like an orca on a bay seal.

“I can see that.”

Stiles blushed and shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie.  “Shut up.”

“Were you able to do the thing with the tree?”

“Yes, Sourwolf, I _did the thing with the tree_.  That sounds totally wrong, FYI.”

Derek rolled his eyes.  If he kept spending time with both Stiles and Carloss on the day they were going to get sore.  “You could just train with Carloss; you don’t have to be an emissary.”

“A, you said he agreed to be one _himself_ , at least for show.  And B, a random human, especially a magic user, being part of a pack without being mated or related just isn’t done and you know it.  _Especially_ if Cro-Magnon Wolf is going to be causing us trouble.”

Sadly that was all too true.  Ennis could hold a grudge like nobody’s business and wasn’t likely to forget Stiles humiliating him in front of the entire supernatural establishment at the Christmas party.  Part of the price the push for assimilation was seriously strict guidelines regarding secrecy.  While the belligerent Alpha wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box he had twenty wolves under him.  At least one had to have half a brain despite their choice of leader, and their position as a pack of five without a real territory was complicated to stay the least.  Nonetheless, Derek had only been an Alpha himself for all of five days and was having trouble curbing his instinctive response to the threat, namely ripping the man apart.  “Screw him.  If he wants to come at you he’ll have to go through me first.”

“Aw, that’s sweet Der, really, but Ennis would grind you into kibbles ‘n’ bits.”  Stiles took a deep breath and sighed.  “Let’s do this.”

 

Deaton met them in the waiting room.  “Stiles, Derek, come into the back.”

They followed him into the exam room.  “Ah, memories,” Stiles breathed.

“Indeed.  I suppose that’s why Scott isn’t with you?”

“He wanted to come, but after last time…”

The emissary nodded, apparently not taking Stiles’ caution as an insult.  “I understand.  And Derek, I see some things have changed for you since we last spoke.

“That’s putting it mildly,” he responded drily.

“Have you had any control issues?”

“Not with his shifting,” Stiles said sotto voce.

Deaton gave him a mild look.  “How about, have you got a firm hold on your new anchor.

Derek would have loved to know how in the hell the man knew he had shifted his anchor from grief to his new pack, but simply nodded instead of asking.

“Talia has been singing your praises, Stiles.  While I’m very impressed you were able to disperse that electrical storm, and sacrificing your own home was admirably selfless, attempting something like that unaided was borderline suicidal.  If you’re going to be apprenticing under me you must promise right now that you won’t be so reckless in the future.”

“I promise,” Stiles said easily.  “I was unconscious for almost two days.  Believe me I learned my lesson.”  It was an easy promise to make because he’d had nothing to with stopping the storm.  Derek hadn’t quite forgiven Carloss for bursting into the pack house uninvited and swatting him down like an uppity cub with damn Mountain Ash cane, but at the same time he was grateful the guy had been able to redirect not!Kate’s attack.   In the end the Hale House only suffered a single direct hit from the unnatural lightning.  Stiles had tried to explain why it had been necessary to obliterate the Stilinski house in the process but he’d gotten lost when “conceptual constructions of the idea of “home”” segued into “Jungian Archetypes” and “dominant/shadow cognitive dynamics” (what any of that had to do with magic he had no idea).  The boy was suspiciously okay with the loss of his childhood home.  Then again, the desire to start fresh was something Derek was _very_ familiar with.

“It would appear that your efforts have eliminated the last of the natural imbalance.  I also can’t help but notice your energies seem much more settled now.”

“Uh, I actually had a little help with that.”

“I see.  I assume this help had something to do with the young man who played the piano?”

“He gave me this,” Stiles said, taking the bear figurine out of his pocket.  They figured an example of the magician’s work was the best way to establish credibility.

“A Zuni bear fetish, interesting.  It carries an enchantment I take it?”

“Yeah, how did you know?”

Deaton arched an eyebrow at him, somehow infusing the gesture with a touch of sarcasm.  “As a rule knick-knacks from tourist traps aren’t known for their mystical properties.”

“I thought turquoise was supposed to be sacred or something?” Derek asked.  “And isn’t animal symbolism central the faiths of many cultures?”

“Careful there Derek or people will start to think you have depths,” Stiles quipped.

“It’s true that items like this have been used in magic for millennia, but on its own it’s just a rock.  It takes belief and a spark of magic to turn it into a powerful totem.  May I?” Deaton asked, pulling on a latex glove.

“I’ve already had my yearly checkup Doc, but thanks.”

Derek suppressed a laugh.  Badly.

“The figurine?” the vet asked patiently.  Stiles handed it over.  After a couple of minutes scrutinizing the crude carving Deaton put on the table and bustled about the room collecting a bizarre mishmash of items including a spray bottle, a candle, and a pair of tongs.

“What’s all that for?” Stiles asked.

“There’s some kind of writing on the surface, probably written in some kind of magical ink.”

“And you’re going to use some kind of diving infusion and a specially prepared candle to illuminate it?”

Deaton looked impressed.  “I see you’ve been making the most of Peter’s…”

“Assault?” Derek suggested.

“ _Penetrating_ wit?” Stiles put in.

“As you say.  Let’s see what we can see.”  The vet struck a match and lit the candle.  It had an odd scent that tickled Derek’s nose.  He couldn’t identify all of the ingredients but he was certain the base material was real tallow instead of wax.  Deaton picked up the bear with tongs and sprayed it with the bottle.  _That_ stuff smelled.  He held it near the flame, muttering something under his breath.  “There, see?”

Derek couldn’t just see, he could smell.  As delicate glowing green sigils traced their way over the stone a heady, earthy herbal scent emanated from it.  “What is that?” he asked sniffing.

“Fascinating.  It seems he used a fluid condenser to write these symbols.  I don’t recognize them.”

“A what?”  He’d never hear that term before but he did recognize the symbols.  They looked just like the writing carved into Carloss’ sword-cane-wand-thing.

“A concentrated herbal mixture that transfers elemental energy,” Stiles explained.

Derek felt less illuminated than he was promised.

“Hmm, I wonder…” Deaton mused.

“Uh, wonder what?”

“Just watch.”  The vet moved his ungloved hand towards the figurine slowly with an intense look on his face.  When it got within a couple inches a glowing green image of bear like a much more lifelike afterimage of the carving reared up from the stone and swiped its tiny paws through the air with a silent snarl before sinking back in.

“What the hell was that!?” Derek asked.

“An elemental.”  Deaton looked torn between admiration and concern.

“You mean he trapped some kind of spirit in that?” Stiles seemed weirdly offended by the idea.

“No, that’s what’s interesting.  It’s artificial.”

“WikiPetera has nothing about that.”

Derek almost choked on his own tongue.  “Wiki _what_?”

“Nevermind.”

“The reason you’re unfamiliar with it, Stiles, is because this is High Magick.  Peter’s library is mostly concerned with Witchcraft, Shamanism, and other pagan practices, which are more…werewolf friendly so to speak.  Actually I’ve never encountered something that blends so many disparate disciplines together.  It appears effective, though I can’t say precisely what it’s for, primary grounding and healing I would guess.”

“Carloss said he’s self-taught,” Derek supplied.

“That would explain it.”  Deaton handed the bear back to Stiles.  “I’m afraid if you are expecting to be doing things like this today then you’ll be disappointed.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Don’t be discouraged.  You’ve already got quite a head start, but the use of magic is maybe the smallest element of what being an Emissary entails.”

Derek wondered how the man managed to capitalize the word emissary with his voice.

“So what’s first, then?”

“History.  What do you know about Ancient Greek Mythology?”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“Ugh, I think I feel another coma coming on,” Stiles muttered, leaning his head against the car window. 

Derek could hardly blame him.  _He’d_ fallen asleep with his eyes open about fifteen minutes into Deaton’s lecture on the evolution of the relationship between emissaries and their packs in the last three millennia. He never would have imagined he’d find himself missing the man’s enigmatic non-answers. “Well it was…interesting.”

Stiles let out a tired “Ha!”.  “I’m surprised you could hear him over the sound of your snoring.”  His phone chimed in his pocket.  He took it out and read the text.  “It’s from Carloss.  He’s says he hopes everything went well and he’ll be at the house at seven provided he’s regained the strength to stand by then.”

“Don’t you think it’s suspicious him going out on a limb for us like this?”

“Ha ha, a limb, get it?  Like a tree?”

He gave him a flat look.

“No, I don’t think it’s weird.  He _built_ the Nemeton.  Do you really think he didn’t take advantage of all that power when he had to himself for two whole hours?”

Derek grip tightened on the steering wheel until it was in danger of crumpling like a Kleenex.  “You _knew_?” he snarled.  “He’s a magician Stiles.  Do you have any idea of the kinds of things they can do to werewolves?”  He felt irrationally betrayed.

“Yeah, he can save a house full from being charbroiled to death.  Then there’s that thing where he saved my life.”

The anger evaporated as Derek realized _why_ he was so upset.  He was _jealous_ , furious with himself that _he_ hadn’t been able to do anything to help.  Worse, he’d let the situation get so bad he’d nearly lost a member of his pack _and_ half his extended family when he should have dragged the boy to Deaton’s office by his hoodie days ago.  He sighed and relaxed his grip, wincing at the tortured groan that came from the wheel.  His poor car.  “You’re right.   Ever since that night I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something wrong.  It’s like there’s something staring at me.”

“Maybe it’s an Alpha thing.  We know that what we did might have brought something here.  Maybe you’re just sensing it from a distance or something.”

“That’s not exactly a comforting thought,” he grumbled.

“You want to talk about uncomfortable?  Apparently it’s my job to advise the Hunters as well as the supernaturals.  That means working with _Sheriff_ Chris Argent.  No offense to Team Human, but if that guy is supposed to be our representative then…ick.”

Derek sympathized with Stiles over Argent’s appointment, but between the clusterfuck with the Faerie Court and the sudden appearance of a second Alpha and pack in Beacon Hills it was probably the least extreme response the Hunters were entitle to under the terms of the Truce.

The boy’s face closed down on an expression of grief and uncertainty.  “What he said about my Dad, that he was working with the Hunters; do you think it’s true?”

He took a hand off the wheel so he could grip Stiles’ shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture.  “Even if he was, he was the Sheriff.  It was his job to protect the humans in this town.  I didn’t know him very well but from the sense I got of him I doubt he’d ever fully trust Chris.”

Stiles hiccoughed, swallowing back tears that didn’t quite fall.  “Of course not, he wasn’t deaf, blind, and dumb.  One look at Creepy Chris’s scary-white smile would have been enough to make him suspicious.”

“Yeah.”

 

 

The rest of the pack was waiting for them when they got home.

“How was your first day at Hogwarts?” Cora asked.

“All History of Magic no Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“Bummer.”

Scott bounced into the foyer vibrating with excitement.  “Good, you’re back.  I got to pick pack training today.  Come on!”  He grabbed Stiles and dragged him toward the den.

Derek glared at Laura who was perched on shiny new surface of the kitchen island.  “You said I free reign on furniture and appliances,” she said innocently. 

“What.  Did.  You.  Do?”

“You’er going to love it,” Cora snickered, flouncing after the boys.

He steeled himself and followed only to freeze in place when he saw the massive entertainment center that took up almost one entire wall of the room.  “You have got to be kidding me.”  The furniture had been pushed back against the walls to make a large open area where the boys were currently standing, using funny-looking hand gestures to navigate the game menu displayed on the massive flat screen TV.  It was truly a miracle of engineering that the thing didn’t pull down the wall it was bolted to.

“This is awesome!” Stiles crowed.

“Lighten up big bro or you’ll be the first werewolf in history to have a coronary,” Cora teased.  “We ordered pizza.  We even got you a White Mega Mushroom with bacon!”

Scott looked at him in abject horror.  “Dude!  How can you _eat_ that?”

“He’s got a point,” Stiles put in.  “It’s not really pizza without tomato sauce.”

“I like it.”  Now that he was an Alpha maybe he should just turn himself a new pack and spare himself the misery.

“I suspect he always orders that because no one else in the family will touch it,” Laura said.

“Like an evolutionary adaptation to avoid competition,” Stiles mused.  “Clever.”

“Can we just get to the video games already?”

Cora smiled triumphantly.  “See?  I told you we could get him to play willingly.”

“And maybe Carloss would be willing to put the sleep whammy on you again.”

This time Stiles beamed at him.  “Ha!  I knew you’d warm up to the guy.”

Derek would kiss the guy again if he could banish his sisters back to the hell dimension they’d come from.  “Whatever.  How are video games pack training?”

“It’s controller free and full body,” Scott explained pointing at a sensor taped to the bottom of the screen.  “This develops reflexes and teaches teamwork.  First up: the Avengers!  You can play as your favorite super hero.”

The kid had actual superpowers now.  How this could be entertaining was beyond him but the giddiness floating around the room was seeping into him despite his best efforts.  Besides it was only a few of hours until they had to head over to his parents’ house.  Given the amount of danger that had crept into their lives maybe a little safe simple fun was a good thing. 

 

It only took a couple of hours to prove him wrong.

 

Werewolves were highly competitive and aggressive by nature so maybe he could be forgiven for getting wrapped up in the flashy, violent games (the ridiculously overlarge screen was partly at fault).  Later, however, he ended up kicking himself for a completely different reason.  Perhaps if he’d allowed himself to have a little fun now and again he wouldn’t have gotten so carried away.  When the lights began flickering he wrote it off as random reflections from the TV.  The strange thumps and creaking noises were just feedback from the brand new speakers being hooked up wrong.  And if he smelled something slightly off they had gotten such a wide array of pizza toppings it was bound to combine into some weird odors.  His reasons for ignoring the minor phenomena were so perfectly valid he barely gave them a second thought, especially after they switched to a one on one combat game and he had to defend his winning streak (he was the Alpha after all).

But when the power went out just after sunset everything he’d put out of his came rushing back in riding a tidal wave dread.

“Nooooooo!” Scott wailed staring at the dark screen in disbelief.  “I was just about to finally beat him!”

Stiles and his sisters were a little more aware.  “Sorry, man, but I think we’ve got bigger problems.”

Cora extended her claws and started scanning the room.  “Something’s here,” she hissed.

“I feel it too,” Laura said.

Derek turned to Stiles.  “What do you think?” he asked, breath steaming in the suddenly frigid air.

“Uh…trouble?”

“Master of the Arcane Lore,” Scott mumbled with a chuckle.

“Quiet!”  A palpable sense of malevolence had settled over the room.  “Show yourself!” Derek commanded, letting his fangs show and eyes shine ruby red.

The TV turned back on, despite the lack of electricity, showing a field of crackling white snow.

“Oh boy,” Laura moaned.  “We’re in my least favorite horror movie of all time.”

“I ain’t afraid of no ghost,” Stiles quipped.

“That movie was terrifying for a whole different set of reasons.”

“What is that?” Scott asked in a hushed voice, finally picking up on how tense the rest of the pack was.  The hiss coming from the speakers started popping and cracking rhythmically, slowly resolving from white noise into harsh derisive laughter.  “Maybe we should just…”

The Beta didn’t get to “go” before a series of clicks and snaps ran around the house as every lock, latch, and shutter flicked closed on its own.

“Scott, please try not to recite cliché horror movie lines,” Stiles warned softly.   “Okay.  So it’s a spirit, probably a poltergeist or larva, some kind of astral parasite that was attracted by all the um…bad mojo around town lately.”  The boy shook out his arms and rolled his neck like he did before sparring and held up his hands imperiously. He spoke in a surprisingly forceful voice.  _“By the powers of Mother Earth no evil shall here tread!  By the cleansing waters of the ancient sea depart and ne’er return!  By the breath of living air my voice shall darkness dread!  By the light of the fire that glows within I command thee be gone, dissolve, and burn!”_ As he spoke the last words his eyes glowed icy blue-white, the air all but vibrating with force of his presence.

The TV blinked off.  The pack stood there in silence straining to hear for several minutes before Cora asked “What was that supposed to be?  You sounded like you were auditioning for a guest spot on _Charmed_.  I hate to break it to you but the show was cancelled.”  She was trying for snarky but her voice was shaky with relief.

Stiles scowled at her.  “Well it worked, didn’t it?”  The Xbox flew off the entertainment center and broke his nose.  “Ogay, I’ll dake dat ath a _no_.”  The bleeding stopped instantly as his nose healed with a grisly pop.  “It’s just plain rude for Witches to write down incantations without proper beta testing,” he said indignantly.

Derek gave him an arch look.  “I’ll send an angry letter to the Ministry of Magic.”

“What’s this?  Humor?  Get some holy water he’s possessed!”

A howling wind rose from nowhere, scattering magazines and pizza boxes.

“Flirt later,” Laura snapped.  “We need cover!”

“The hall closet!” Stiles yelled over the screaming gale.  They made a break for it as vases, pictures, and objets d’arts starting making kamikaze runs at their heads, throwing open the closet and squeezing in.  The moment the door closed the supernatural storm cut off with a crash of falling knickknacks. “Well that was bracing.”

Derek twisted around to face him.  “Why the closet?” he asked in whisper.

“It can hear our thoughts,” Stiles whispered back.  “We may as well talk normally.  This is closest enclosed space to the kitchen.  We just stocked the pantry so there’s plenty of herbs and salt and stuff in there.”

“I’m going with you.”

“Yeah, no.  I’m the only one who’s “functionally immortal” here.”

When Derek had asked Carloss what that meant the man had produced a knife with a flourish and stabbed the boy in the chest.  Stiles had barely flinched.  “I don’t think we should keep testing that theory.  Besides, after last time you spent hours complaining about the hole in your favorite Captain America t-shirt.”

“Look…uh…Scott needs you!  You can’t abandon your Beta.  The poor boy’s swooning with terror!”

“I am?”

“ _Ahem_.”

“I mean…oh the fear!”  The kid flopped over theatrically onto Laura’s lap.  The traitor began fanning him like he Blanche Du Bois.

He smiled at their antics in spite of himself.  “Fine.  You have thirty seconds before I haul your ass back in here.”

“Roger that, General.”  Stiles took off his hoodie, zipped it up and tied off the hood making an improvised sack.  “Be right back.”  He gave them all a cocky grin that was spoiled by his too wide eyes and slipped out the door.

It was maybe ten seconds before he burst back in pale and shaking.

“I-I saw…it was my Dad but it wasn’t…he wasn’t…”  The boy lunged at Derek, wrapping his around him in a terrified embrace.

Stiles had told him about the things he’d seen in his nightmares.  He had a pretty good idea of what kind of horrorshow the spirit had put on.  “Hey, shh, it’s going to be okay.  We’re going to get out of here and…”

“No you won’t.” 

The boy’s voice had turned raspy and slithering.   He began a dry gurgling chuckle that made Derek’s hair stand on end.  When he pushed Stiles back Scott and girls screamed.  He would have joined them but the sight in front of him had temporarily robbed him of the memory of how to breath.  The boy’s skin was mottled and grey, pulsing with maggots crawling under the skin.  One eye was a milky ruin but the other glowed yellow and transfixed him with a baleful glare.  A set of claw marks trailed over his face exactly where Derek had cut him a few days earlier, but had become deep, festering lacerations instead of the superficial marks he’d given him. 

“You did this to me!  I trusted you!” the words were barely intelligible through the protruding fangs and gory mess that remained of his throat.  “Look at what you’ve done!”

Derek’s claws swept out blindly as the corpse that had been his packmate threw itself at him.  He heard a sharp gasp followed by a chorus of agonized wails from the pack behind him as Stiles fell back, looking completely normal now except for slashes that had opened his throat all the way to the spine.  The boy made a gurgling sound that might have been Derek’s name and fell limply to the floor.

“Stiles!”  He huddled over the boy’s body, hands scrabbling to apply pressure to wounds that had already stopped bleeding.  It was too late.  “No no no no no no.  I’m sorry,” he choked out.

His head snapped up as the door opened and Stiles came in.  He looked down in shock at the bare floor.

“I got the stuff.  It’s all quiet out there.  I think…oof!”

Derek hugged him so tightly he could hear ribs creaking.  Fortunately Laura had retained some presence of mind and snatched the hoodie-bag, dumping out its contents and grabbing the salt cylinder.

“Move away from the walls!” she hissed and began pouring a thin line around the baseboard.

“Oxygen, becoming an issue,” Stiles wheezed.  “Thanks,” he said as Derek released him and reeled back.  “What the hell happened while I…OOF!”  Laura, Cora, and Scott buried him, hands patting everywhere tentatively trying to make sure he was real.  “Bad?” he asked simply when they finally released him.

The pack nodded mutely.

“Don’t worry.  I got everything I need to make a kick ass evil spirit exorcism spell.”

“And not a moment too soon,” Scott said with a whimper as the surface of the door warped and bulged.  A face and hands appeared like a man trying to fight his way out of saran wrap.  “You know, I was a little upset about the whole turned into a werewolf thing but now I’m kinda glad I have super healing.  That thing can’t _really_ hurt us, can it?”

“Um…not well, at least not permanently,” Stiles hedged.  “Of course, since it’s feeding on our fear we should probably get rid of it before it gets strong enough to.  I’d suggest we wait it out until morning but…”

“But it’s ten days past midwinter.  The night’s just started,” Laura finished.  A rumbling basso laugh punctuated her words.

“You still in there Derek?” Cora whispered tremulously.

“I’m fine,” he replied despite the fact his claws were currently buried in the meat of his thighs so he could use the pain to help him get a grip on reality.

Stiles rubbed his arm consolingly.  “It’ll be okay big guy.  I’ve got a plan.”

 

Derek and Scott wound up sacrificing their shirts to the war effort but they managed to arm themselves well enough, if little cloth baggies full of smoldering kitchen spices counted as armed.  When the pack burst out of the closet they found every surface in house seething with roiling shadows which receded as they scattered the sachets around, creating pools of blessedly mundane darkness.  They made a break for the living room as the furniture began skidding around wildly and the cabinets started flapping open and closed.  Derek, Scott, and Cora ran interference while Laura used the remainder of the salt to pour a large circle and Stiles lit and placed five tea lights within it at so that they formed a star pattern, a pentacle.

“Now!” Stiles called.  They jumped in the circle as he lit a bowl of the herbs and dribbled a little of his own blood into the mixture with an assist from Laura’s claws.  In the unnatural dark it almost seemed to glow a luminescent scarlet.  The rest of the pack followed suit.  “Join hands!”  As the spectral wind rose again they stood hand in hand and began to chant.

_Spiritus sordia_

_sanguina et anima_

_per aerternita_

_totum epellemus!_

Unidentifiable detritus flew about like flotsam and jetsam in a hurricane but everything seemed to miss the circle entirely.  Even the salt was undisturbed and the flames of the candles didn’t flicker once.  With every repetition the spirit’s rage grew until the entire house shook with it.  Within the circle the fragrant smoke swirled and twisted snakelike winding around the members of the pack in looping spirals.  One last time through the chant and the light bulbs exploded in their fixtures with a shower of sparks and shattered glass.

Stiles grinned wolfishly with cold light shining in his eyes.  “Get the fuck out of my house you son of a bitch.”  He stomped on the bowl, shattering it.    The whorls of smoke imploded, drawn into the center of the spell by a vortex of energy that Derek could feel tugging at him before a blinding flash lit the room followed by a peal of thunder and a concussive wave that threw them all to the floor.  With one last bellowing shriek the sense of malice vanished as the ruins of the décor rained down around them.

Stiles leapt to his feet with a whoop of triumph.  “Hell yeah!  Who’s the emissary?”

Derek felt of surge of fondness for the boy and no small amount of relief.  Still…  “Stiles, maybe you shouldn’t…”  The boy flew upward, slamming into the ceiling so hard he set off an avalanche of plaster and sent a network of cracks spiderwebbing across it.  He stayed there, pinned by an invisible hand.  “Stiles!”

“Aw man…”  The pack jumped up, each grabbing a limb, but all they managed to do was hang there like a bizarre piece of modern art, a werewolf mobile.  “Unless you want to tear my limbs off this isn’t going to be very productive,” Stiles groaned through gritted teeth.  There was a sizzling sound and he yelped as the front of his shirt caught fire a half second before the force keeping them up, abruptly vanished, de[positing them in a sprawl on the floor.

“What was _that_!?” Scott screeched while Stiles frantically tried to put out his shirt.

“It’s this thing!”  The boy lifted up his shirt revealing Carloss’ rosary, the silver cross glittering defiantly in the gloom.

Derek’s dread was barreling towards despair.  “It couldn’t touch a holy symbol.  That means…”

“Yes,” Laura said rising and shifting into Beta shape.  Instead of bright yellow her eyes, whites and all, were stygian black orbs.  “Don’t worry Der-bear.  The souls of the mooncursed are damned regardless.  At least you won’t have to live to see your nightmares come true.”

They all stood stunned and horrified, all but Scott.  “Hiyahhhh!” he roared, slamming what was left of the coffee table into the back of her neck.  She crumpled like a rag doll.

“Grab her!  Into the closet!” Stiles commanded.

Back in their laughably inadequate hidey-hole (they didn’t even bother closing the door this time) the boy shucked off his ruined shirt and took of the rosary.  “Sorry Laura,” he said, placing over her neck.

Her eyes flew opened as she wailed like a banshee, he howl blending with the deep baleful voice of the spirit.  The cross made her shirt catch fire as she writhed and tried to throw them off with a strength that was remarkable even for a werewolf, but together they managed to hold her down until her back twisted into a painful-looking arch and the spirit left, the door slamming shut behind it as it was expelled from the closet by the salt barrier.

“Did someone put some of Peter’s herbs in the champagne again?” she moaned, golden eyes fluttering asynchronously.

“Welcome back,” Stiles said sagging with relief.

“You said your totally awesome spell was a sure thing!” Cora snapped.  “Instead my sister got possessed _Mr. Emissary_!”

Derek had to at least try and take control of the situation before they saved the spirit the trouble and ripped _each other_ apart.  “Cora stop.  It wasn’t his fault.  It’s not really a poltergeist is it?”

Stiles shook his head.  “The banishing spell hurt I think, but mostly it just got more pissed off.  I’t’s…guys I think it’s a demon.”

“You mean like an actual from Hell demon?” Scott squeaked.

“Well, it might be Goetic instead of infernal…”

“And can you get rid of a Goetic demon?” Cora asked dangerously.

“I don’t know how.  Even if I did the best I could do would be to force it out of the house and out into the world somewhere.”

“Fuck that,” Derek snarled.  “I’m not letting that thing out so it can go on a rampage through my territory.”  Scott and Stiles nodded in agreement while Cora looked pained.  Laura just looked semi-conscious.  “We need to banish it for real, not just from this house but from the world altogether.”

Stiles shifted nervously.  “Yeah about that…  You need Divine Magic to compel a demon like that and I’m a little too non-denominational.  We either need a Priest to exorcise it.  That or Carloss might know how.”

“Assuming he’s not the one that summoned it here in the first place,” Cora growled.

Derek shared a look with Stiles that said they were on the same page about that particular concern.  “He said he’ll be here at seven.  I guess we’ll know then.”

“Are we safe in here until then?” Scott asked.

“Totally,” Stiles replied.  That booming laughter rang out again as blood began running down the inside of the door like a water feature.  “It’s about what, six-thirty now?  We’ll be fine.”

 

 

As it turned out Stiles was right.  They remained safe in their little sanctuary.  They remained safe until it was ten o’clock at night.

“Maybe we should try calling him again,” Scott suggested.

“Still no bars,” Stiles said, sighing.

Sometimes Derek hated being right.  He never should have trusted the “White” Magician.  “I guess that answers our questions about Carloss,” he said darkly.  “We are going to get out of this and then I’m going to bite that son of a bitch so he’ll hold up longer when I rip him to pieces.”

Cora snarled her agreement.  Laura was passed out from the strain of the possession but he thought he heard an approving growl in her snores.

“Ack!” Stiles squawked, face palming.  “I’m such an idiot.  I have another way of getting in touch with him.”

Derek didn’t like the sound of that.  “You’re going to try and reach him through that mind link thing you have?”

“Yeah.  It was my subconscious that made it but there’s no reason I shouldn’t be able to open it up a little further if I focus on it.”

“If he sucks your soul from your body you’ll only have yourself to blame,” Cora said diffidently.

“Just shut up and let me work, okay?”  She growled softly but didn’t say anything else as Stiles closed his eyes and furrowed his brow in concentration.  After a couple of minutes he began flapping in his hands in front of him excitedly.  “Carloss, you there?” he asked aloud, probably for their benefit.

 _“Stiles, I thought we talked about the concept of consent and how it relates to magical mind penetration,”_ Stiles said imitating Carloss’ voice.

“Sorry, dude, but we’re stuck in the closet and need your help.”

 _“While I’m honored you and Derek have chosen me to come out to, can’t it wait like thirty seconds?”_   It was a mark of how freaked out everyone was that that went right on by without so much as a snicker.

“Huh?”

_“I’m right outside your place.  What other questionable mojo have you been slinging around in there.  I’m getting some major league bad vibes.  Nevermind, this is retarded.  The door’s open.  I’m coming in.”_

Stiles’ eyes snapped open.  “Hurry!  We have to…”  A flash of golden light shined through the gaps around the door, blinding after so long in the dark, followed by the sound of two hundred and thirty-five pounds of magician landing hard outside the closet.  Stiles threw open the door and hauled the guy inside before Derek could stop him.

“S’up?” Carloss asked, dazed.

“We’re in a little bit of trouble,” Stiles explained as the demon began howling in outrage as if sensing the threat posed by the newcomer and hurling furniture about.  “Derek, cut that out,” he snapped.  Derek let his eyes remain glowing but stopped growling threateningly.  “There’s a demon.   We need your help to banish it?”

“Are you insane?  Do I look like a priest to you?  And if you were in trouble then why did send me this text telling me come by whenever because you’d decided to celebrate here instead of the Hales’”

“I didn’t…” Stiles trailed off as he pulled up his old texts and saw it there plain as day.  “Huh, I guess it’s a technosavvy demon.”

Carloss rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes.  “I’m sorry but not all of us are walking supernatural powerhouses.  I didn’t bring any tools or supplies because I thought this was a _party_ and an exorcism isn’t something I can just pull out of my wizard hat.”

Stiles gaze trailed down to the guy’s chest where he was absently fingering a brassy metal pendant the size of a silver dollar on a thong around his neck.  “That seal, it’s got the same ritual writing on it as your staff and the bear totem.  Is that what you made today?”

The magician looked impressed that he’d been figured out but not angry or shifty.  “Yeah.  It’s a protective amulet.  Has one hell of kick to it though.  That demon or whatever slammed into my shield like an rabid bull elephant.  I’ll be sore for a week.”

“Our hearts bleed for you but we have bigger problems at the moment,” Cora snapped.

“What kind of magic is on that thing?” Stiles asked ignoring her.  “It seems very,,,sunny.”

“It’s pretty standard just a little more complex in the formulation of the symbology and turbocharged by the…oh, you’re right, that could work.”

“If you bent its focus a little…”

“And you provided enough power to overload it…”

“Then the resulting release of energy…”

“Would blast that thing back to the crusades.  You’ll owe me a new amulet and a talisman that I get to make at a time of my choosing in addition to whatever I can pull off when I’m tree-sitting while you’re at Deaton’s.”

“Deal.  You’re not going to kiss me are you?”

Carloss laughed brightly.  “No, this is just a polite exchange of favors.”

Derek did not approve, but wasn’t in the mood for another heaping serving of crow for a late dinner so he kept his mouth shut.

“Do you need anything special for this?” Stiles asked.

“Nope.  But the others will have to stay in here.  This is holy-sun-purifying magic and I have no idea what releasing such a concentrated amount would do to werewolves in close proximity.

Now Derek _really_ did not approve.  “Stiles, this is a bad idea.  A demon pops up and suddenly this guy strolls in with the key to rescuing us literally around his neck?”

“Who spit in your kibble?” Carloss asked.  “I’m a college dropout not Jim Moriarty.  This will only take a second.  Just keep your eyes shut.  I don’t want to have to explain to Darth Mater why I permanently blinded her son.”

Derek almost laughed at the image of Talia-as-Sith.  There might have to be some Photoshop-ing in the near future.  “Fine.  But double cross us and…”

“And you’ll rip out my ribcage and wear it as a hat.  Got it.   Ready Stiles?”

“And how.”

The three werewolves closed their eyes reluctantly as the two practitioners left the closet.  They didn’t have to wait long.  Two minutes later there a blaze of gold so bright it made the interior look like noon in the Sahara even with their eyes _closed_.

Stiles opened the door a couple of seconds later.  “All done.”

“Really?”  Scott asked incredulously.  “After all that it was as simple as waving a shiny disc around?”

Carloss rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, simple.  So simple it wasn’t banished so much as dispersed so thoroughly it won’t be finding its way back onto our plane for a looooong time.  Unfortunately, to pull it off I just sacrificed an extremely difficult and expensive bit of High Ritual Magick that took me more than a month to craft and now I’m about to pass out from exhaustion for the second time in one day.  I would appreciate it if someone would actually _catch_ me this time.  Happy Auld Lang Sign of the Beast you guys.  Peace!”

Derek caught him as he fell.  Not because he felt indebted or anything; the guy just happened to slump in his direction all by himself.

 

 

Carloss wasn’t the only one to receive a phantom text.  Derek’s phone had sent a message to his Mother telling her not to expect them, which explained why no one had come to their rescue.  They layed out Laura and the magician on a pile of cushions they’d salvaged from the wreckage so the two could sleep it off.

“So…it’s still an hour and a half until midnight.   What do we do now?” Stiles asked surveying the disaster area that remained of the first floor.

Derek shrugged, not really feeling in a party mood.

“I’m not cleaning this mess up,” Cora declared.  “At least not until after I’ve drunk my bodyweight in champagne.”

“That might not be a bad idea,” Scott mused.  “If things like this are going to keep happening maybe we should, like, enjoy the occasion while we can, you know?  On the bright side, the Xbox and TV survived!”

“Amen to that, buddy,” Stiles agreed.  “Um…do we _have_ any booze?”

Cora smile sweetly.  “Derek has a bottle of fifty year old Glen McKenna his editor sent him when he sold his ten millionth book.”

“Wait, editor?  Ten millionth book?” Scott asked, shocked.  “Derek is a _writer_?  How did I not know this?”

“Because it’s a secret!” he snarled glaring at his utterly unrepentant sister.

“Ooooookay..?”

“Anyway, I’ve got some of that herbal mixture left from Christmas Eve.  Let’s crack that bad boy open!” Stiles enthused.

Laura stirred on the cushion pile, groaning.   She opened her eyes and started when she saw Carloss lying next to her.  “Did I hear something about Scotch?  Did I get drunk and hook up with the magician?”  She didn’t seem too terribly upset by the idea.

Derek really, _really_ didn’t approve.  “Remember the demon?  You were possessed?”

She paled as it all came rushing back to her.  “Oh, right.  I didn’t..?”

“Nope,” Stiles chirped.  “Scott knocked you out before you could do more than threaten our souls with eternal damnation.”

She looked at the young Beta who colored under her scrutiny.  “Thanks.  I think.”

“You’re uh…welcome?”

Laura lurched to her feet.  “I definitely vote yes on the alcohol.”

“We should probably take Carloss home first,” Derek said stalling.  That bottle was like the signed collection of his books his sisters had given Stiles, something he couldn’t quite bring himself to either get rid of or make use of.  “Where doe he live?”

“No idea,” Stiles replied.  “Check his pockets.”

“I got it,” Cora volunteered.  She sidled over to the unconscious man, giving Laura a challenging smirk as she slid her hands into his pockets with unnecessary slowness.  _Girls_.  “Got a wallet.”  She flipped it open.  “Not much in here.  Colorado driver’s license, supermarket discount card, debit card, a five dollar bill, and…fifty Euros.  Weird.  And what’s with the shorts?  It’s forty degrees out.  Doesn’t he get cold?”

Derek frowned down at the sleeping man.  “Nothing about this guy makes sense.  I still don’t understand why he’s so determined to be involved with our pack.”

Scott snorted derisively.  “Isn’t it obvious?”

They all stared at him in askance.

“Who else is he going to hang out with?  He’s new in town, doesn’t know anybody, and has no brain to mouth filter.  Maybe he’d rather hang out with a bunch of werewolves that could rip him to pieces with one hand than be alone.  Getting use to all this supernatural stuff is hard enough with a pack.  I can’t imagine what it would be like without one.  Plus, the guy is _human_.  Lightning bolts, demons, and even Cora’s cooking we bounce right back from, but he must be feeling a little breakable right about now.”

“I think I’ll make a _special_ batch of cookies, just for you,” Cora drawled.

“Whatever, he saved our asses.  _Again_ ,” Stiles said defensively.  “I think that buys him a little good will.”

“I’ll get the Scotch,” Derek grumbled.  He _couldn’t_ trust Carloss.  Ultimately it was because the guy wanted to be close to his pack but would never, _ever_ be willing to actually _join_ it.  The truth was he doubted he would ever really trust _anyone_ that wasn’t pack.  But he could tolerate the man, maybe even make friends with him.  Eventually.  But that line would always be there.

 

When midnight finally rolled around four buzzed werewolves and one annoyingly sober Stiles counted down to the New Year, surrounded by the signs of battle but otherwise unharmed, while a magician snored peacefully on the floor nearby.  If the moment was really an omen for the coming year…Derek could work with that.


	11. Team Players

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In preparation for the Wolf Moon the pack hosts a dinner/meeting to coordinate with the Talia, Deaton, and Chris. Aidan and Ethan also attend and end up staying the night. 
> 
> The new semester starts with a bang when the first Lacrosse practice of the year turns into a spectacle.

Stiles threw all his concentration into Shading himself, letting his senses expand as imagined flickers of dark fog wrapping around him.  The creaks and pops of the house expanding in warm afternoon, the shifting play of light and shadow, even the faint currents of air, he let it all weave together into a cohesive whole in the blankness of his mind’s eye and direct his movements with flawless stealthy precision.  His quarry was extremely dangerous, able to rip him limb from limb in a heartbeat.  He knew that even that level of violence wouldn’t actually _kill_ him but he didn’t fancy the idea of spending the rest of his life as a smart mouth attached to a dismembered torso.

The stairs loomed in front of him.  This would be the hardest part, but flowed up them like he was no more than a shadow himself.  Once on the landing he could hear the faint clicking of his prey in the room at the end of the hall.  He slipped in like a wraith, remembering to keep his muscles relaxed as he approached.  Finally he was in striking distance.

“Faeries!” he bellowed.

Derek made an un-Alpha-y noise and flew up out of his desk chair at least a foot, limbs pawing at the air like he was trying to climb an invisible ladder.  “Damn it Stiles!  I told you to stop doing that.  I’m going to _kill_ Carloss for teaching you how, I swear!”

He wasn’t really concerned about the magician’s safety; the flush coloring the Alpha’s cheeks was _embarrassment_ , not anger.  Mostly.  “How else am I supposed to practice?” he asked innocently.  “Your senses are the strongest so you get the honor of being guinea pig.”

“At least try not to turn my hair blue,” Derek grumbled turning back to his laptop.

At first Shading had eluded Stiles so he’d tried to make a potion to replicate the effect.  It had exploded violently.  Cora, dodging slightly too late, wound up with brilliant cerulean hair.  He had no idea how.  Fortunately she liked the shade, otherwise she probably would have scalped him in retaliation.  “Don’t worry.  I wouldn’t want your color allergy to send you into anaphylactic shock.”

“Stiles, please.  I have to finish these revisions.  The…my editor is breathing down my neck.”  The man sounded stressed.  Well, more stressed than usual.

He leaned in and sneaked a quick peek before Derek snapped his laptop shut.  “Wait, that formatting…that’s a script.  I thought you didn’t write for the show.”

The Alpha froze in place with his most neutral scowl plastered o his face.

It clicked.  “Holy shit, dude, that’s a movie script isn’t it?  _You’re writing a_ Fangs and Hearts _screenplay!?_ ”  This was beyond huge.

“Stop.  Talking.”

He rolled his eyes.  “Why do you keep the series going if you look like you’re about to commit seppuku every time someone mentions your work?  Admit it.  You’re totally a proud papa wolf and you want your brain puppy to succeed.”

“How many times did Carloss drop you on your head this time?”

“Twenty-seven, but that’s beside the point…”

Derek smiled smugly.  “He really did let you win that first time didn’t he?”

This time it was Stiles turn to scowl.  His Alpha didn’t like the fact that the skinny human whupped him during every pack training session.  It was one of the keystones in the unholy grudging alliance/friendship Derek and Carloss had been cultivating over the last two weeks, the sole purpose of which appeared to be frustrating him to death.  “My funky dark magic pseudo kung fu powers are useless against a magician with a second degree black belt; his defenses are way too good.  I never thought Tai Chi could be so violent.”

“Aren’t you about a hundred times more powerful than him?”

He made a chuffing sound.  “I’m a nuclear bomb; he’s a nuclear power plant.”

“Poetic.”

“The point is we do completely different types of magic.  Those amulets and talismans he makes don’t force change to happen just…encourage everything to naturally fall out exactly how he wants.”  He made the mistake of asking to explain how that worked and had a gotten a lecture on Quantum Physics worthy of Lydia.  “Oh yeah, he gave me the last piece of magical home décor you asked for.  You shouldn’t be enabling his paranoiagasm.  Ever since the mess with that demon he’s spent every moment he’s not on shift shoring up the protections at the Nemeton or coming up with worst case scenarios to prepare for.”  To be fair, the sense of the demon’s power and malice had left him shaken.  Carloss was ten times more sensitive than he was.

“It never hurts to be prepared.”

“Unless he blows himself up making Guardians for us.”

“Why are they always bears?  A wood carving, a bronze statue, a ceramic pot full of ivy, fetishes, wind chimes, all bear motifs.”

“It’s a symbolic thing.”

“You don’t say.”  Derek’s tone was just past the Sahara on the dry scale.

“The point is he’s terrified that someone will try to cut our connection to the Nemeton and take it over for themselves, something about the distant descendant of a Faerie King, the son of a Sheriff, and an erstwhile Alpha not adding up to a divine right to rule.”

Derek fidgeted uncomfortably.  “I was wondering about all that “divine” stuff…”

“You’re still obsessing over the demon’s taunts about doom and damnation?  Demons lie. Dean.”

“Did you just _Winchester_ me?”

He beamed at the Alpha.  “How great is it that _Supernatural_ is applicable to our everyday lives?”

“I’m ecstatic,” Derek deadpanned.

“Me too.  Speaking of Hunters, what are the odds of everyone making it through dinner alive?”

“Slim.”

“There’s the power of positive thinking.  You stay up here and brood your way into a Golden Raspberry Award, I’m going to Scott’s right after I finish keying the new piece to house defenses.  It’s the big bowl and the dining room table, silver, so you shouldn’t touch it.”

Derek looked mildly affronted.  “Stiles, silver doesn’t actually hurt werewolves.”

“It’s a skrying bowl made of _charmed_ silver so it most definitely can.  Once I get it set up we’ll be able to use it to direct the guardian elementals.  Theoretically I’ll even be able to use them to do long range reconnaissance.”

“There’s that T word again,” the Alpha said in mock terror.  “Every time you use it something explodes.”

“Har har.  I’ve got this.  Trust me.”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Nothing exploded, exactly.  He just made the mistake of filling the bowl with water beforehand.  His healing powers had taken care of the steam burns easily enough though.  When he got to Starbucks to pick up some Frappucinos on the way to Scott’s he ran into a bit of trouble.

“You!” the owner shrieked at him when he walked in.

“Uh, me?”

“Yes!”  The old man pointed a crooked finger at him, five feet of fury and a thick Ukrainian accent.  “You took away Mr. Hale!  I lose half my business because of you.  No more googly girls buy lattes!”

“Sorry?”  He backed up against the glass as the man advanced on him letting loose a wrathful tirade.  Stiles couldn’t understand what he was saying but was pretty sure he was being thoroughly cussed at.

“Go out!”

“Gone.”  He bolted.  So much for his apology coffee.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

When he got to the McCall house Cora was on her way out.

“See ya Mrs. M!”

“Take care miha.”

“Hey Brujo,” she greeted him.  Her Spanish was good enough that she’d thoroughly enjoyed listening to Melissa’s enraged ranting during the Big Reveal and had picked up a few choice phrases and vocab words.”

“Sup.”

“Just hanging out with the Puppy, going over summer reading and plotting world domination.  You know, the usual.”

He felt a flare of jealousy.  The two of them had gotten over their awkward tension and almost overnight Scott & Stiles had become Scott & Cora.  Of course, he hadn’t really been around much lately.  “Laura wanted me to remind you to pick up the steaks on your way home.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Yeah, yeah, I got it.  We have to make a good impression on the visiting dignitaries.”

“It’s dinner, not an international incident in the making.”

“We’ll see,” she said flipping her sapphire hair over her shoulder.  “Have fun on your boy date.”  She gave him a peck on the cheek and took off down sidewalk.

He went inside and found Melissa bustling about the kitchen making a casserole.  “Hey, Stiles,” she called.  “Scott’s upstairs.”

“Thanks.”  He took the stairs three at a time and bounced into his friend’s room.  “Hey man.”

“Hey.”  Scott looked a little sheepish.  “Thanks for coming.  I thought it might be nice to hang out and play Halo just the two of us.  Like old times.”

Stiles felt like a crap friend.  “No problem.”  They turned on the Xbox and settled in to give some aliens a taste of the grape.  It was fun but there was an awkward tension that had never been there before.  After half an hour he was desperate for something to break it.  “So…we’re going to kill at lacrosse tomorrow.”

“Oh man it’s so on!  We are totally making first line this year.”

“First line?  Think bigger, dude.  I say we oust Jackson and take over the team as co-captains.  Can you imagine the look on his face?”

Scott gave him a knowing grin.  “Oh sure.  I’m guessing he’s not the only one who might look at you different.”

“Subtle, but yeah, it may be step one in my revised five-year plan to make Lydia fall in love with me.”

“You’re really still hung up on her?  I was kinda thinking you might have found someone else.”

“Who?” he asked incredulously.  “She’s perfect.  Why would I want to move on just when I finally have a real shot of getting her to notice me?”

Scott chuckled and shook his head.  “Nevermind.  So, do you think my Mom is planning on putting wolfsbane in Talia’s food tonight?”

Stiles laughed at the mental image of Melissa McCall, master assassin, spiking the casserole between courses.  “It wouldn’t surprise me.  She still hasn’t gotten over that whole “turned her only son into a creature of the night” thing, huh?”

“Not so much.  Do you think Mr. Argent is gonna bring Allison?”  Nonchalance epic fail.

Stiles sighed.  All attempts at talking Scott out of the most insanely dangerous crush ever had failed spectacularly.  “I doubt it, buddy.  It’s probably for the best.  I doubt tonight would make the best impression.”

“You’re probably right.  But school starts tomorrow,” the teen wolf said hopefully.  It was proof positive that Allison was some kind of wicked of siren or whatever.  Only a creature of pure evil could make a sixteen year old boy excited for the end of winter break.

“How are you doing with the werewolf thing?  Are you really okay?”  Stiles had been avoiding this talk for weeks but it had reached the point where he had to ask before the guilt ate him alive.

Scott looked pensive for a moment, which was an unusual expression for him.  “It was hard at first.  It wasn’t like I _asked_ for this, you know? “

“Yeah,” he replied miserably.

“Crap, I didn’t mean it like that.  It was just a surprise is all.  Once I got a chance to wrap my had around it it’s pretty cool.  My asthma’s gone, I have superpowers, and having a pack is really pretty awesome.  Even if it means having to put up with taking orders from _Derek_.”

“He’s not that bad,” Stiles said defensively.

“Uh huh.”  Scott was giving him the gimlet eye for some reason.

He wasn’t sure why but he felt a little like he should be blushing.  “Deaton says he thinks you could be an Alpha yourself someday.”

The Beta shuddered.  “God I hope not.  Being in high school is hard enough.  Can you imagine me running a pack by myself?”

“Nope.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Don’t mention it.  Besides, you wouldn’t be by yourself.  I’d be there to kick ass as your emissary.”

“Really?”

Scott looked so damned happy Stiles punched him in the arm to ruin the sweet moment before he went into a diabetic coma.  “Duh.  Now come on.  We’ve got an hour before we have to head back to the pack house for the most uncomfortable meal in the history of forever and I plan to spend it kicking your wolfy ass all over the screen.”

“Oh it’s on Brujo.”

“I hate that nickname,” he mumbled for the umpteenth time.

“We know.”

“What did I ever do to deserve you guys?” he moaned.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

The smells wafting from the kitchen were mostly non-toxic although the language as Laura and Cora snarled and fought over recipes could burn a hole through your eardrums.  Stiles and Scott had already finished setting the table and were killing time playing with a deck of Tarot cards.

“You can actually read those?”

“Kind of.  Carloss gave me an impromptu lesson in divination today.  He has these stones with symbols on them that he uses but they combine Tarot, Runecasting, and the Tree of Life.  I couldn’t make heads or tails of it so he gave me these to practice with instead.”  The magician had actually seemed a little desperate, like he’d read something disturbing in the future and wanted a second opinion.

“Practice what?” Derek asked, stalking into the room and plopping down in his seat at the head of the table.

“Stiles is going to tell me my fortune.  Actually, he should read you instead.”

He sensed a plot.  “It’s not fortune telling, Scott, and I don’t think Derek…”

“No by all means,” the Alpha said lacing back and lacing his fingers behind his head.  “This should be interesting.”

He scowled at the man as he shuffled.  “You know there are other forms of encouragement besides ego deflation.  Cut the deck.”  He slid the cards over.

“And what dazzling insights will this reveal?” Derek asked, cutting the deck and sliding it back.

“Perhaps it will show romance in your future,” Scott said smiling oh so innocently.

Stiles choked back a laugh.  “Sourwolf on a date?  Sorry, there’s no “Apocalypse” card in this deck.”

“You’re not funny.”

“Let’s see what cards think, shall we?”  He flipped the first one over.  “Oh look, Der, it’s your card: The Hermit.”

“ _That’s_ pretty funny,” Scott snickered.

“Stiles…” Derek growled.

“It’s not a bad thing; it means wisdom and experience and stuff.”

“ _Wisdom_?” the Beta guffawed.

“Scott!  Why do I put up with you two?”

“You know you love us.”

Scott was turning red with humor.

“Just hurry up with the damn cards.”

He turned the second over, laying sideways over the first.  “Lust, reversed and in opposition.  Dark ambition.  Since it’s in conflict with your own significator I think it means you have an enemy that’s plotting against you.”

“There’s a shock,” Scott gasped out.

“I assume you mean something beyond my sisters’ plot to poison us all with their cooking.”

“Hey!” the girls yelled from the kitchen.

He turned the third card and put it to the right.  “The Queen of Swords.  That’s Laura’s card.  Weird.  In this context it means she’s been your biggest ally in the past.  Makes sense since she’s your twin.”

“Let’s not get carried away,” she called.

He turned the fourth and set it on the left.  “The Prince of Discs in opposition, the guy with the battle plan.  Okay that’s just spooky.  This one is my card and it means that I’m becoming your bestest friend now but it’s through conflict with your old life.  Ha!  The cards don’t lie you _do_ care!”

“Maybe your interpretation is off?” Derek suggested mildly.

“I don’t know Der-Bear,” Scott said.  The Alpha elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

He turned the fifth and put it above.  “The Knight of Cups, basically Romeo with even less impulse control.  Scott’s card, naturally.”

“Hey!”

“You’re the one mooning over Argent’s daughter.”

“According to this he’s also the key to solving your problem.”  He turned the sixth card and placed it below.  “The Princess of Wands in opposition.”

“Let me guess, Cora,” Derek drawled.  “Did you stack the deck?”

“I swear this is totally not my doing.”  He left out the painful truth the cards were showing, that she was becoming Scott’s closest friend n the pack, despite the tension that almost brought down their fledgling pack.  “Okay, now that the present is set up let’s get a peek at the future.”  He went ahead and dealt out all four of the vertically stacked cards on the right and flipped the bottom one over.  “The Magician.”

“I wonder who that represents?” Scott mused.

“Of course this has something to do with Carloss,” Derek said tiredly.

He turned over the next card.  “The Moon reversed.  I think this means the actual moon, maybe even the Wolf Moon under the circumstances.  Something is going down at the conclave this weekend.”

“That’s not exactly news.”

Derek didn’t sound concerned but an uneasy feeling was churning in the pit of Stiles’ stomach.  It only got worse when he saw the next card.  “The Aeon.  A time of change that could go either way, which will be decided by the conflict with your enemy resulting in…”  He went silent when he turned over the last card.  It was the Hierophant reversed and in opposition to the Magician.  Desecration.  An oath broken.  The fall of a righteous man.

“Stiles, what is it?  What do you see?” Scott asked worriedly.

“I…I’m not sure.  Derek’s probably right; this is silly.”  He quickly gathered up the cards and shoved them back in the box.  The werewolves could doubtless hear the lie in his heartbeat but they didn’t press the issue.  He had a feeling he knew why Carloss had looked freaked earlier.  The reading had strongly implied that the magician was going to wind up as collateral damage in a struggle between werewolves at the Wolf Moon.  He was going to have to make sure the guy was nowhere near the Hale House that night.  “You know what?  I forgot to make sure the Guardians are set to let our guests inside without getting mauled in the process.  I’m going to go do that.”  Suddenly he was glad for distraction provided by dinner.  He really didn’t want to obsess over how he was in real danger of destroying _another_ person’s life by dragging them into werewolf business.

 

 

Everyone arrived more or less at the same time, which averted tense standoffs in the foyer, but as soon as they were all seated at the massive mahogany table Derek had bought specially for the occasion the atmosphere became electric with unease.  Stiles, aware of the general overfondness for ritual, had put a lot of thought into how to sit everybody.  Their Alpha sat at the head of course, with him, Scott, Melissa, and the twins on the left side.  Laura, Cora, Talia, Deaton, and Carloss were on the right.  That just left the foot of the table, the position of honored guest, which had gone to Chris Argent who had observed the seating arrangements with amused smile on his smug face.  At least the Hunter had had the decency not to wear the uniform.  Stiles would have hexed his creepy ultrawhite shark teeth right out of his head if he had.

“So Chris, how are liking law enforcement?”

“I’m doing just fine, Stiles.  It’s not all that different from what I already do.”

“Oh?  Some neighborhood kids keep tagging mailboxes on our street.  Maybe you could cut them in half for us?” he suggested, lopping a fingerling potato in two.

“Only if they give me lip,” the Hunter quipped. 

Derek growled softly but Stiles couldn’t help but smile.  If he didn’t hate Chris’s guts he might actually like the guy’s sense of humor.  “So why did you ask for this little sit down?”

“The sudden appearance of a new Alpha with two powerful practitioners at his beck and call has upset the balance of power in Beacon Hills.  We were already concerned with two teenage Alphas moving into the area.”

“And I assured you I would take responsibility for training Aidan and Ethan until they graduated,” Talia said in a reproving tone.

“And you always use your _power_ responsibly,” Melissa commented, showing the other woman her teeth.

Carloss laughed under his breath and almost choked on a dinner roll.

Deaton cleared his throat.  “Perhaps we should stick to the matter at hand?”

“Agreed,” Derek growled.  “I assume you want some kind of concession from us.”

“Not at all.  I simply wanted to meet everyone in person.  Alan has assured me that the situation here is stable for the moment,” Chris said nodding to the emissary.  “I’m willing to trust his assessment, for now.  But with the _event_ coming up this weekend I thought it best to get this out of the way.”

“And if the situation should change?” Laura asked evenly.

“Then I will re-assess.”

“Are you threatening us inside our own den?” Cora snarled.

“Children, please,” Talia snapped, eyes glowing red.

“Mother,” Derek growled warningly, his own eyes shining.

She grimaced.  “I apologize.  It’s easy to forget that you are your own pack now.

“It’s fine.”

Stiles watched Chris’s reaction through the exchange, noting a sparkle of satisfaction in the man’s eyes.  He needed to get this fiasco back on track.  “So, Aidan, Ethan, how are you liking Beacon Hills?”  Hopefully he could figure out a way to tell them apart before he embarrassed himself too badly.

“It’s a lot nicer than the warehouse we were squatting in back in L.A.” (Aidan?) said.

“This place definitely has a couple of things worth exploring,” (Ethan?) added with a coy smile in Carloss’s direction.  The magician turned as red as the wine he slugged back in a feeble attempt to hide his discomfort.  Although from the way the guy’s eyes stayed glued on Ethan and the disgruntled nose-wrinkling going on with the werewolves Stiles was betting that he _was_ in fact into twins, or at least one of them.  There was some definite potential there, for endless amusement if nothing else.

“Carloss is considering becoming their emissary,” he said.

“Interesting,” Chris murmured, turning to the younger man.  “It’s highly unusual to find a magician, especially a White one filling that role.  Typically people like you tend to ally with us, when they get involved in supernatural affairs at all.”

“People like me?” Carloss asked with a cold edge to his voice.  “I’ve always been the independently minded sort.  As for allying with you and yours…”

“You would be well compensated for your services.”

“I am a _White_ Magician, I don’t take _compensation_.  But if you want to bargain for my assistance you may.  It comes with a different kind of price.”

Chris nodded, smiling like he’d confirmed a suspicion.  “Understood.”

“This is all rather premature,” Deaton said.  “It will be a couple of years at least before the Aidan and Ethan will need an emissary of their own.  Though I have to admit the protection you’ve placed on this house are impressive.”

The two of them fell into a whispered conversation about magical theory, leaving the rest of them to their own devices.

“So you guys are juniors?” Scott asked.

“Sophomores,” the Twins replied in unison like a teen heartthrob remake of _Children of the Corn_.

“Where are your parents?” Melissa asked.

“Don’t know.  And we don’t really want to,” Aidan replied.  Stiles decided the boy Alpha’s perpetual threatening glower was good enough to tell him apart from his slightly nicer brother.

“Then where are you staying?”

“Talia set us up with a loft downtown,” Ethan supplied.

“You two are welcome to join Scott and me for dinner anytime.”  Her Momma Bear instincts were admirable but if Stiles had ever seen two kids less likely to accept parental guidance he couldn’t remember when.  _Combined_ they had about as much warmth as _Jackson_.

“You can come here too,” Cora added with a wicked grin at Aidan.  “We’d love to have you…for dinner, again.”

Aidan actually smiled a little at that.  “We might have to take you up on that.”

Derek was looking up at the ceiling like he prying for it to collapse and crush him. 

Laura was trying so hard not to smile her lips were quivering.

Talia sighed expressively.  “It’s so nice to see everyone getting along.”

“Speaking of which,” Chris interjected making Stiles jerk in surprise.  It was shocking how such an imposing man could fade into the background.  “Perhaps this would be a good time to go over the security plans for this weekend.  Even if everything goes smoothly a hundred plus werewolves can be a bit of a logistical problem when it comes to keeping the general public unawares.”

“Of course, Chris,” she said with a nod.  “Derek, if you would join us please.  The rest of your pack might like to retire to the living room with Carloss and the Twins while we talk.  Melissa, you’re welcome to stay if you’d like.”

“I appreciate the gesture, Mayor, but I have a casserole dish to soak and an early shift.  Scott, if you’d like to stay here tonight that’s fine with me but I’ll expect you, Stiles, and Cora at home after Lacrosse practice tomorrow so we celebrate your getting first line.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Sure thing Mrs. McCall.”

“Thank you for having me Derek, it was…an experience.”  She gave Talia one last challenging stare and tossed an evaluating look at Chris before she stood and grabbed the dish of the table and made a hasty exit.

“I should ask Victoria to take her out to lunch sometime,” Chris drawled.

Deaton arched a wry brow at him.  “That would certainly be…entertaining.”

“Quite,” Talia agreed.  “Alan, if you would.”

The emissary nodded and closed his eyes in concentration for a moment before the sound at the end of the table cut off.  Stiles cussed internally, riddled with envy.  That damn privacy spell kicked his ass every time he tried it.  “Come on guys, let’s let the adults talk.”  He led the way into the living room.  “Well that went better than I expected.”

“We made it through with all our limbs still attached,” Laura observed.

“The night is young,” Cora said with a smirk.  “Well, what should we do now?”

“I have a couple of ideas,” Aidan replied with a leer.

“Me too,” Ethan agreed making Carloss twitch.

“Super Smash Brothers?” Scott suggested.

“Seconded!” Stiles barked.  The way things were heading it was either that or intensely awkward supernaturals game of Spin the Bottle.  “What do say Carloss, ready for some payback?”

“Ha, how about _no_.  I have some bad SSB memories from my childhood.”

“Aw, did the Big Bad Magician get picked last in school?” Cora asked with an exaggerated pout.

“I have three brothers.  We never made it more than twenty minutes before we did away with the controllers and switched to headlocks.”

“ _Brothers_ ,” Ethan said sympathetically while his twin rolled his eyes.  “Come on, we need four players.”

“Alright, why not?”  Carloss seemed to be getting over his indecision, settling on the floor next the young Alpha.  That was _definitely_ going to be something fun to watch.

“Do you guys play Lacrosse?” Scott asked.  “I you guys joined the team we could take state _easy_.”

“We’re not really team players,” Aidan replied sprawling on the couch.  Cora settled herself on the armrest by his feet.

“Maybe you haven’t found the right teammates to play with,” she suggested.

“Wow, well you kids have fun,” Laura said.  “I’m off to help with pups so Sam and Peter can go on a date.”

“Good night,” they chorused.

“So you do magic?” Ethan asked Carloss while Scott wrestled with the entertainment center.  “What kinds of things can magicians do?”

“All kinds.”  He twisted a ring on his finger and made a beckoning gesture.  One of the controllers flew into his outstretched hand.

“Since when can you do _that_!?” Stiles squawked.

“I made a talisman for focusing psychic power.”  The jerk shrugged like it was no big deal. 

“Impressive,” Ethan said taking the guy’s hand and looking at the ring. 

“Let’s get on with the game,” he grumbled.  He’d lost count of what number extra wheel he was at this point.

Unfortunately he must have accidentally said that out loud because everyone groaned.

“Is he really that clueless?” Aidan asked incredulously.

“I _know_ ,” Cora agreed.  “It’s just plain _adorable_.”

“Leave him alone,” Scott said coming to his rescue.  “It’s not nice to make fun of the mentally impaired.”  _Traitor_!

Whatever.  He was going to lay an epic beat down on his so-called friends Pikachu style.  That and continue to not think about what they were all implying.  He wasn’t _completely_ oblivious, but he wasn’t going to risk losing his new family over a crush, especially when he didn’t actually feel that way anymore.  There were definitely strong emotions there but they weren’t lusty or romantic.  Still, his relationship with the surly Alpha was straying into some weird territory.  Great, now _he_ was looking forward to high school in the morning.  A little bit of teenage normalcy would set him straight.  He’d say “when pigs flew” but he was pretty sure he could pull _that_ off without much trouble.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

When they’d first moved into the pack house he’d thought it was unnecessarily large, but after the chaos the following morning he wished they had an extra wing or at least another full bath.  Video games had segued into a Firefly marathon, which had turned into raging cuddlefest when Carloss put a little too much glamour into his voice singing along with the theme song and wound up entrancing the entire group.  Ethan had gotten the brunt of it and attached himself to the older man like a snuggly limpet.  When Derek walked in after the meeting ended he took one look at them and dropped into an armchair with an exasperated grunt, clearly uninterested in expending the effort involved in trying to break up their impromptu slumber party.  Later Stiles wished the Alpha had done something since he woke up in a tangle with Scott.  Being close with your best friend was all well and good but he could have lived a long and happy life without ever having felt the guy’s morning wood pressed against him.  _Awkward_ didn’t even begin to cover it.  At least he was the first one to wake and was able to scamper off to grab a shower before anyone actually _saw_ them like that.

By the time he was dressed and ready the others were awake and fighting for places in the shower rotation.  He followed the narcotic scent of coffee into the kitchen and found Carloss apologizing profusely to the Twins for laying the whammy on them in another Alpha’s den.

“I’m really sorry.  I only learned about my faerie glamour a couple weeks ago.  I’ve been practicing it on patients, keeping them calm and helping dull their pain but I guess my abilities are developing ahead of my control.”

“It’s fine,” Aidan said looking mollified.

“Anytime,” Ethan agreed looking like he wanted another hit.

Stiles realized that this was probably the longest time the two of them had spent with a pack without suffering some kind of abuse if what little he knew of their back story was anything to go by.  “Coffee?” he asked.

“Got a fresh pot right here,” Carloss answered.  “I’m more of tea guy myself but I figured putting on the pot was the least I could do, considering.”

“Don’t sweat it.  An overdose of feel good vibes is nothing compared to my usual magical mishaps.”  He turned to the Twins.  “Do you guys have to run back to your place for your stuff?”

“We brought it with us.”

“Talia suggested it.”

Stiles wondered if Her Honor the Alpha was running another Master Plan on them.  On the other hand, arranging a nice night for the Twins might be an act of compassion on her part instead of one of calculation.  “I don’t think the girls have realized there’s another shower off the garage.  If you want hot water…”

“Thanks, Stiles,” Ethan said with a conspiratorial smile.

“I’m gonna head out,” Carloss announced.  “I traded shifts so I’d have this weekend off.”

“You coming to the Wolf Moon?” the Alpha asked hopefully.

“I can’t.  I’m not actually formally associated with a pack yet, but I want to be free for when something inevitably goes horribly awry.”

Stiles groaned in irritation.  “You and Derek, I swear.  Everything doesn’t always go wrong you know.”

The magician’s eyes flicked over to the deck of Tarot cards sitting on the counter where Stiles had left them.  “You’re probably right.  Wednesday?”

“See you then.”

“Aidan, Ethan, it was nice to meet you.  I’ll meet up with you guys on Friday so we can talk about the whole emissary thing with Deaton.”

“Sounds good.”

“Um…have a nice day at school?  Right, bye.”  Carloss lurched towards the front door like the kitchen was on fire.

“Yeah…he’s not the most socially adept person,” Stiles explained.

Aidan grunted agreement.  “Picked up on that.  Ethan thinks it cute.”

His twin shrugged unabashed.  “Hot, powerful, and awkward.  It’s a trifecta.”

“Poor Danny’s going to be crushed.”

“He’s human,” Ethan said, dismissive and wistful at the same time.  “He’ll get over it.”

Stiles’ More to the Story Alarm started clanging inside his head but he didn’t know the Twins well enough to ask them to open up their baggage to his curiosity.  “At least you’ll get out of having to deal with Jackson.”

“That tool?” Aidan asked with a snort.  “I think we can handle one idiot high school jock.”

He didn’t disagree, exactly, but he had a bad feeling that the soon to be deposed Lacrosse Captain was going to be a surprising amount of trouble.  Maybe if Carloss glamoured the putz hard enough he could hypnotize him into acting like a real boy.  They’d find out soon enough.  In the mean time he was starving.  “Who wants bacon?”

A barrage of Me’s sounded throughout the house.  He got out the jumbo skillet and three packs of bacon and got to work.  Sadly he had inherited his Mom’s catastrophic cooking skills along with her artistic talent, but this he could do.  Ironically cooking over an open flame was probably the useful thing he could do that was least likely to result in a fiery explosion.  He put thoughts of untimely immolation out of his mind and started strategizing while he made breakfast, trying to figure out a way to avoid an entirely different kind of blowup on the pitch that afternoon.

 

 

Their procession caused quite a stir when they got to school.  The Twins on their sleek motorcycles and Derek’s Camaro would have made heads turn all on their own, but pulling in with Stiles’ beat up old Jeep in between them added that extra note of weird that drew every eye on campus.  The staring and whispering only intensified when they went inside, Stiles in the lead wearing his favorite red hoodie trailed by four werewolves in leather jackets (Scott borrowed one of Derek’s, who seemed amused at Stiles plan to make an entrance).  Jackson’s baleful glare and Lydia’s cold assessing gaze were the icing on the cake.  He gave her a roguish wink as they passed.

“I feel ridiculous,” Scott complained.

“Own it, Scott,” Cora admonished.  She’d piled her neon hair on top her head in an artfully messy up-do.  The janitorial staff was going to have to put out a wet floor sign because of the hordes of teenage boys salivating over her.

By some twist of fate (he suspected twist of Talia, actually) the five of them had the same class schedule, which meant they all got a front row seat to watch things get complicated right off the bat when who should walk in late and sit down behind Scott but Allison Argent.  He gave a pen and looked like he might pass out from joy when she smiled and thanked him.  Cora slumped forward onto her desk and started banging her forehead against it softly.  Things went from awkward to tense in a heartbeat when the teacher arrived a moment later.  Instead of the crotchety middle-aged man they were expecting, in walked the most terrifying woman Stiles had ever seen.  She was tall, with the build of an Amazon, and dark red hair cut short and severe.  She was beautiful in Joan of Arc kind of way but the piercing intensity of her blue-eyed stare made him doubt _she’d_ be the one burning at the stake if anyone was dumb enough to cross her.

“Good morning class.  My name is Mrs. Argent and I’ll be your English teacher for the rest of the school year.”

Oh for the love of _God_.

 

“Are you sure about this Scotty boy?” he asked between classes while his friend leaned against the row of lockers and made goo goo eyes at Allison while Jackson and Lydia inducted her into the beautiful people club.

“Give it up Stiles,” Cora said with a groan, “There’s no denying the power of puppy lurv.”

“Going after a Hunter’s daughter while her She-Terminator Mom is thirty feet away?   You’ve got balls man,” Aidan put in helpfully.

“Um, thanks?”

“On second thought maybe Aidan and I will give Lacrosse a shot,” Ethan said, smiling as Danny passed them.

His twin rolled his eyes.  “Why not.  Might as well get front row seats for the show.”

“Oh yeah, _nothing_ could go wrong with this,” Stiles mumbled.

 

 

He wasn’t afraid to admit he had a bit of dark side (demon not!Kate notwithstanding).  Watching Jackson work his way toward an aneurysm during practice was absolutely delicious, especially since Cora had joined Allison and Lydia on the bleachers to work her Mean Girl magic. 

Coach blew his whistle making all the wolves flinch.  “McCall!  Who the hell are they?” Finstock barked looking at the Twins.  “Never mind, I don’t care.  Get in the goal.  If Thing One and Thing Two here can score on you it’ll build up their confidence.”

“Sure thing Coach.”

Stiles tried not to be bitter that he was exiled to the bench while the Twins got to just walk onto the field but watching Jackson preen in front of the girls gave him an idea.  A no good, terrible, _wonderful_ idea.

Scott, of course, caught every single ball.  Soon the disbelieving murmurs from the onlookers became cheers.  Jackson cracked before half the team had gone, stepping in and taking a shot with a massive aerial windup and Stiles couldn’t pass up the opportunity.  When the boy’s foot came back down he gave it a tiny telekinetic nudge.  It slipped out from under him and sent jackass into an epic faceplant.  Shocked gasps gave way to cat calls and open laughter as he lurched to his feet blindly with a huge chunk of sod caught in his helmet.

“Jackson!  What was that!?” Coach yelled.  “This is _Lacrosse_ not the diving team, walk it off!”

The rest of team went back to failing to score until they got to the Twins.  Stiles had worried people would accuse Scott of playing favorites but the superhuman amount of heat behind their shots was undeniably impressive and brought the people in the stands to their feet.

“What is it Opposite Day?  Bilinski!  Get in there!  Let’s see if I need to buy me a lottery ticket!”

Stiles only stumbled twice as he put on his helmet and got into position.  Scott usually chose Lacrosse when he got to pick pack training so he’d had plenty of practice using his powers to help, and making it look believable.  He put an extra hooking motion in his shot so that it looked natural when the path of the ball curved at the last second and sneaked past Scott into the top corner of the goal.

Pandemonium erupted like they’d just won State. He could get used to that.  “That’s what I’m talking about!” Coach yelled.  “I don’t know what the hell’s going on here and I’m not going to ask!  McCall, Jackson you’re team captains for scrimmage!  The rest of you losers fall in!”

 

Someone must have sent out a Twitter alert or something because the crowd had grown to game day size by the time they got into a huddle at one end of the field.  He opened himself up to the part of his mind that buzzed whenever he sparred with the pack.  Sports were pretty much the same thing as combat.   Wave of insight and battle strategy surged through his thoughts leaving behind a plan.

“Okay here’s what we’re gonna do.  Scott, you good in the goal?”

“Go crazy.  But let me have a couple.”

“No problem.  Aidan and Ethan, you’re with me.  The rest of you…”

“Why should we listen to you, Stilinski?” Greenberg sneered.

Aidan headbutted him hard enough to daze him despite his helmet.  The angry muttering from his other teammates cut off.  Apparently Stiles had been adopted by the Twins.  Of course, he had given them some free violence and a chance to dominate in competition.  It was becoming clear to him that werewolves appreciated that kind of thing more than flowers and chocolates.

“Any other questions?” he asked.  Dead silence.  “Good.  You three form a loose line and shadow us.  Try to force them to pass so we can intercept.  The rest of you hang back a bit and pin down anyone that gets by us until we can play hammer to your anvil.  Everybody got it?”

They broke apart.  He jogged to center field and took up position opposite Jackson himself.  If looks could kill Stiles would be DOA.  It was _magnificent_.  “I don’t know what you think you’re doing Stilinski but I’m going to crush you.”

“Good luck with that.”

This was the touchy part.  He could flatten Jackson with a thought, never mind what he could do to him physically, but people were bound to ask awkward questions if he hulked out on the theoretically stronger boy.  This was exactly what Carloss had been trying to teach him.  It wasn’t about raw power but how it was applied.  When Finstock dropped the ball Jackson didn’t even try for it, surging forward to flatten him instead.  He had been counting on that.  Instead of meeting the rush head on he yielded rolling his weight down and back.  His overeager opponent wound up overextended with a shoulder in his gut.  Stiles continued the motion sending Jackson flying and leaving the ball open while everyone stood and stared in shock.  He snatched in up and charged downfield.  The defenders recovered pretty quickly but Aidan and Ethan ran in front of him clearing a path like a living snowplow.  When he reached the goal Danny was so stunned it didn’t take any supernatural assistance to put a shot past him.  He banged helmets with the Twins in celebration while the crowd cheered.  Lacrosse had _never_ been this much fun before.

 

For every goal he scored he made sure Scott got defend one.  His teammates had gotten over their misgivings with the first point and started taking his direction without question.  He only had to help Jackson’s feet find a slippery spot once more before the jackass was floundering all over the place under no influence but his own seething rage.  Stiles made sure his team gave the soon to be ex-captain space to embarrass himself whenever he got the ball.  The mood of the crowd began to turn vicious, laughing and hooting.

“Stiles!” Scott hissed, darting out of the goal to grab him between points.  “You’re going too far.  _Look_ at him.”

Jackson’s chest was heaving, and not just from heavy breathing.  Stiles was less than sympathetic.  The jackass was getting a decade’s worth of karma in one scrimmage game.  Scott was right though; it was time for this to end.  He waved at Finstock and pointed to his wrist.

“What is it Bilinski, got somewhere to be?  Fine.  That’s game everybody.  22-0, God I love this sport!”

The team, save Jackson and Danny rushed in to surround them, even the battered losing half got in on the back thumping and congratulations.  They could all practically _taste_ the State Championship.  Cora came down from the bleachers with Allison in tow.

“That was awesome guys,” she crowed.

“Really amazing,” Allison agreed smiling shyly at Scott who looked like a kid on Christmas morning.

“McCall!  Bilinski!  You two!  Whatever you’re doing keep doing it!” Finstock bellowed.   You four just made first line!” “And someone find out what the hell is wrong with Jackson!”

Stiles looked over at the humiliated boy.  Danny was trying to console him while Lydia looked him over like a surgeon assessing the best way to attack a nasty tumor in a terminal patient.  He felt a flicker in his awareness and turned to the bleachers in time to catch a friendly wave from Carloss in his EMT uniform before the magician melted into the crowd and vanished.  That explained why the scrimmage had attracted such a large and rabidly enthusiastic audience.  The guy was “practicing” his glamour?  No kidding.

“See Stiles?” Scott asked glowing with exhilaration. “I told you we’d make first line this year.”

“I never doubted you for a minute buddy.”  He looked at the twins.  “And you two said you weren’t team players.”

Aidan shrugged but his cool air warmed a little when Cora grinned at him.  “I guess we could get used to it.”  Ethan grabbed him and ruffled his hair.

Somebody called out “Pizza!” and the team started stumbling towards the locker room in a giddy mob.  It was one of the best days of Stiles’ life.

 

 

A hand snaked out of the shadows and snagged him when he left the school.

“Gah!  Derek?  What are trying to do, give me a heart attack?”

“You’re invincible.  And what were _you_ trying to do?”

“You saw?” he asked bouncing like a puppy expecting treats.

Derek wasn’t in the mood.  “Yes I saw.  Have you ever heard of keeping a low profile?”

“That’s a hell of question coming from a Hale,” he responded drily.  “We kept in under control, kicked ass, and didn’t go all grrr so what’s the problem?”

“And humiliating that kid?”

“Jackson?  That was mostly just for fun.”

The Alpha’s glower cracked a bit.  As the son of the Mayor he’d had his own encounters with the son of the DA.  “Okay, I’ll give you that one.  But that putz isn’t going to forget this, ever.”

“Good.  Look, I promise I’ll tone it down from now on.  I just wanted to make a first impression that would stick.”

“Congratulations then.”  Derek fell silent looking like he was chewing his words over carefully.  “While I’m glad you’re making friends with the Twins you might want to back off a bit before you accidentally bring them into our pack.”

“What?  You’re the Alpha and I’m just a human, well a human with some deluxe upgrades but still.  How could I bring someone into the pack?”

Derek stared at him like he questioning his intelligence.  “Just keep in mind that they’re Alphas with a territory they’ll be responsible for in just a couple of years.”

“And in the meantime..?”

The man rolled his eyes fondly.  “Fine.  Go befriend.  Eat pizza.  My Mother will just have to adapt her schemes.”

Stiles beamed at him.  “Sounds like a plan.  See ya back at the house.”

“Be home by midnight.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Get out of here.”  Derek gave him a shove and faded back into the shadows.  The guy really had the creeping thing down, although it lost some its mystique with the pack bond giving away his general position.

As he jogged to meet the others at the Jeep he started working on another plan of his own.  Derek was right about Jackson.  Stiles knew there was basically no hope of mending fences there, but he was going to need to put in the effort.  At the very least he needed to establish a détente and avert a Social Civil War.  He had to keep the team intact if there were going to take State and Jackson had a lot of pull there.

His stomach rumbled, driving out thoughts of reconciliation in favor of visions of pepperoni.  He could start working on taking over the school (and hopefully the forefront of a certain strawberry blonde’s attention) tomorrow.


	12. Cinderstiles versus The Red Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack decides to make Stiles' love life a group project.
> 
> Derek reveals more about his past.

“Are you okay?”

Carloss paused in the middle of shrugging back into his shirt and looked at him with a conspicuous lack of expression.  “Fine.”

Stiles wasn’t convinced.  “Dude, you’ve been kicking my ass all over the preserve for weeks and today I beat you every single round.  What gives?”

The magician sighed, fastening his buttons with obvious haste.  “I have a lot on my mind.”

He pictured the guy’s face on the Hierophant Card staring up at him upside down mournfully and tried for levity.  “Maybe something in particular?  Or some _one_?”

“Ha.  Ethan’s nice.”

“And?”

“And what?  I’m meeting the Twins Friday morning before the Wolf Moon to talk.”

There was way too much bitterness in Carloss’ tone.  Good natured ribbing wasn’t cutting it.  Time for another tack; the guy appreciated directness.  “Do you like him, yes or no?”

“Does it matter?  He’s an Alpha werewolf and I’m…me.”

“Do you think he’d hurt you?  Like physically?  Granted the Twins are a little scary but a werewolf can’t even _touch_ you if don’t want them to.  You could twist them into a werepretzel before they could lay a claw on you.”

“Exactly, and that would always be on my mind.  It’s not really conducive to romance.”

Stiles had to give him that one.  “Still, it might be worth it to try.”

“Speaking of which, any luck thawing the red-headed ice queen?”

His efforts on that front were rapidly turning into a train wreck.  “You know what?  Let’s just get on with the lesson.”

Carloss nodded in satisfaction.  “Agreed.  Today you’re going to climb the tree.”

“It that some kind of euphemism?” he asked cautiously.

“No.  Catch.”

The magician tossed him a small red-painted clay disc inscribed with the usual squiggly lines and sigils.  “Are you ever going to tell me what these mean?”

“Maybe.  That token will enhance your physical abilities significantly while you don’t have access to the bulk of your power during Wolfstock.”

“Are you sure you can hide the Nemeton for that long?  You passed out that first time.”

“I’m a lot stronger now and each time I did it I reinforced the containment spells on the stone circle.  It shouldn’t be a problem.”  Carloss walked over to the Great Oak and pulled a bag out of a hollow between two of its massive roots.  “Back to the task at hand…”  He pulled a pair of safety glasses out and threw them over.

Stiles put them on.  “I’m afraid to ask.”  Carloss pulled out a paintball gun.  “Oh hell no.”

“You’re going to jump, swing, and climb through the lower branches while I try and shoot you out of the tree.”

“Couldn’t we just spar some more?”

“You were the one that pointed out how off my game I am.”

He would have thought it was all a setup if not for the dark shadows under the guy’s eyes.  “Fine.  If this ends up on YouTube I’m going to be very creative with my revenge.”

Carloss went on undeterred.  “The point of this is to practice using only the talisman and not draw on your powers.  There will be four fully trained emissaries here all weekend, not to mention a veritable werewolf invasion.  You need to be able to play in the big sandbox without blowing our cover.  Ready?”

“So _not_ ready.”

“Tough.”

Stiles let out a squawk and darted for the lowest branch as the first volley of paintballs sent up little puffs of dirt and leaves.  How did he get himself into these situations?

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

When he got home he found Derek in the kitchen making an enormous pot of Abuela Delgado’s tortilla soup.  Stiles had gotten accustomed to the reality of faeries, werewolves, and demons but the thought of the surly Alpha trading recipes with Melissa McCall broke the mold.

“Ugh!  Can magicians be white and still evil?  Carloss’ ideas for training make yours look like trust falls.”

“What’d he do this time?”

“He had me play George of the Jungle while he shot paintballs at me.  Every time I tried to climb too high or hide behind the trunk he’d yank my feet out from under me telekinetically.  I think it was his oh so subtle way of disapproving of how I handled Lacrosse practice on Monday.”  Derek made a show of leaning over the soup and taking a deep whiff but Stiles could see his shoulders shaking.  “Oh go ahead and laugh before you strain something!”  He waited patiently for the guffaws to die down.  “I think I liked it better when you scowled and alluded to something violent every time I mentioned him.”

“I guess nothing brings people together like tormenting you.”

“I knew it!”

“Speaking of torments, are the Twins eating here again?”

“Seeing as how you’re using a pot the size of a garbage can I figure you know the answer to that.”

Derek snorted and began measuring out spices.  “It was hard to miss the fact that someone opened up the empty room with the twin beds and made them up.  What are the odds of them sleeping at their own place tonight?  Or ever again?”

“Slim.  Sorry Papa Wolf, looks like you’ve got two new puppies.”

The man cocked his head like he was listening to something upstairs.

“They’re here already, aren’t they?  Parked their motorcycles in the garage?  Am I in trouble?”

“Loads.”

“Super.  Assuming I actually live until the weekend, what’s on the agenda for Wolfapalooza?”

“The kickoff on Friday is basically just a barbecue.  Saturday is for games and competitions.  The diplomatic stuff will happen Sunday morning while the younger wolves sleep it off.”

That all sounded like a hell of a lot of fun.  “And what do I do while the rest of you get in touch with the wolf within?”

“Try not to get eaten?”

“Har dee har.”

“I was planning on letting the kids have you.  Don’t worry, Sam will be there to point and laugh so you don’t miss us too much.”

“How thoughtful.”

“Go do your homework or something and let me cook.”

“I’ll do it later after everyone else is asleep.  It’s easier to concentrate then.”

“Are we still pretending I don’t know you only sleep two nights a week?”

Truthfully he lay in bed and stared at the ceiling two nights a week but corrected him seemed counterproductive.  “I’ll probably sleep tonight.  Today was supposed to be easy since I didn’t have practice but Carloss worked me way harder than Coach ever did.”  Derek’s eyebrows tried to disappear into his hair and his lips started to quiver.  Stiles realized what he’d just said and face-palmed.  “Oh for the love of God we just covered this; laugh all you want!  You win, I’m off to do Chemistry!”

He fled upstairs pursued by Derek’s hoarse chuckling.  The door to the Twins’ room was open as he walked by.  Aidan and Ethan had a silent conversation when they saw him that ended with the former shaking his head and saying “Not right now.  Too easy.”  Apparently the humiliation wasn’t over yet.

He’d claimed the bedroom at the end of the hall as his.  The attic didn’t stretch all the way over the house, leaving that room with an extra high ceiling. Combined with the small private balcony it made the space seem much larger and brighter.  He kept it fastidiously clean, almost freakishly so for a teenage boy, but keeping order in his environment was one of the ways he stayed on an even keel.  Of course, having most of his old junk get burned up during his Psycho Son of Zeus episode went a long way to prevent clutter.  All the really important stuff had been boxed up and moved before the fire so he had his clothes, his laptop, and the pictures of his parents.  He didn’t really miss his comics or fantasy novels, he was living them now.  If he needed a source of escapism in the future he didn’t know what he’d do, maybe read Jane Austen or something else wonderfully mundane. 

The walls were still white, half because he couldn’t pick a color and half because he didn’t want to give up the moments just before sunset when light streaming in through the balcony doors made the whole room sparkle and glow.  It had become his touchstone, a moment that repeated every day without regard for the supernatural insanity that had overtaken his life.  For some reason it was pissing him off.

He let out and irritated growl and shut the curtains, dispelling the illusion.

“What’s got your pointy hat in a twist?” Ethan asked from the doorway.

He threw himself down on the bed and put an arm over his eyes.  “Do you ever feel like your world is spinning out of control?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?”

Stiles winced and sat up.  “Sorry.  How are the Alpha lessons coming by the way?”

“Good enough I guess.  Derek’s an okay teacher but he’s even newer at this than we are.”

“Derek?  I thought Talia was teaching you.”

Ethan shuddered slightly.  “She teaches him and he teaches us.  Talia…she’s one of the most powerful werewolves in the world, and we don’t even have a pack anymore.  Working with her reminds us a little too much of being with our old Alpha.”

He could see how that might hamper the learning process.  Stiles scooted to the edge of bed and waved the werewolf over.  “You know she threw me through a wall one time.”

“What did you do to deserve that?” Ethan asked, plopping down next to him.

“Hey!  Okay, so I may have broken Derek’s jaw and cracked his spine, just a bit.”

The boy looked impressed. “You’re a little scary, you know that?” 

“But not on _purpose_ ,” he said defensively.

“Speaking of scary, please tell me this snit isn’t about Lydia.”

“ _No_ …”

“You’re blushing.  It’s okay, Aidan was worse.  He wouldn’t shut up about her for weeks after the ball.”

A snarl came from down the hall.

“She’s just so… _Lydia_.”

Ethan groaned and fell back on the bed.  “Don’t tell me, you have a plan.”

“Maybe…” he hedged.

“Need any help?”

 

 

One of the problems living with werewolves was the total lack of boundaries.  Normally they ate dinner wherever but that night the pack plus the Twins, minus Scott who was hanging out at his Mom’s, gathered around the table so they could plot Operation Stiles’ Love Life.  He resisted at first but before long got as into it as everyone else, taping up photos and sticking post-its to the wall and connecting them with a web of multicolored yarn while the others ate and shouted out suggestions.

“We have to do something about your clothes,” Laura said giving a laser eyed once over that made him feel like wasn’t wearing any.

“I _like_ my clothes.”

“Resistance is futile,” Derek drawled handing Cora his credit card.

“Sweet!” she sang.  “I’ll be right back.”

Stiles tried to protest but she was out the door with superhuman speed.  “I’m totally screwed, huh?”

“I thought that was the point of all this,” Aidan quipped.

He was going to have to look into creating an anti-blushing spell if he was going to keep spending all his time with werewolves.  “It’s not about _that_.”

Laura rolled her eyes.  “His lurv is pure.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he muttered.  Stiles had plenty of not-so-pure thoughts about Lydia.  Probably _all_ of them.

“Lydia’s ambitious,” Ethan said, “You should have heard what she was saying to Jackson in the hall during lunch today.”

“Taking it easy on him during practice yesterday was smart,” Aidan added.  “Now it looks like you own him.  She’ll be looking to trade up.”

“Is it crazy to think she might actually want to date me because she likes me?”

“Yes,” they chorused.

“That’s great guys, really feeling the love over here.”

Laura’s expression softened a bit.  “Stiles, she doesn’t _know_ you.  All of this,” she said waving her hand at the wall, “Is just to get your foot in the door.  If you want her to like you you’ll have to take it from there yourself.  Just be careful you don’t turn yourself into Jackson 2.0 trying to impress her.”

Damn her and her psych degree stomping all over his rom-com fantasies.  “You’re right,” he said with a sigh.  “Is there any soup left?  I want to enjoy my last meal before Cora gets back and embarrasses me to death.”

 

It was every bit as nightmarish as he feared.

 

“Skinny jeans!?” he wailed quietly.  The fitted light blue tee was almost as bad.  It was _Derek_ tight, but to be fair it did turn his chest into something almost manly-looking.

“Better bite the bullet and go show the others before I start in on accessories,” Cora replied with wicked glint her eye.

“And to think I used to imagine what it be like to have a sister.”

“See?  Dreams really do come true.  Now get your ass out there,” she said, giving his backside a slap.

He mumbled a few creative curses (sadly the non-magical kind) and trudged out of the study-turned-dressing room.  The others cheered and cat-called when he walked in with his arms wrapped around himself trying to feel less exposed.

“Hot damn,” Ethan whistled.

“Not bad,” he brother agreed.

Derek looked like he was choking on an overload of jokes.  “That’s…different.”

Cora bounced to his side and spun him around.  “Check it out.”

“He does have a cute butt,” Laura agreed.

“Aaaand I’m out.”  He fled with Cora on his heels like a giggling jackal.

“Okay, we can try something else.  I bought lots of options.”

“I feel kind of uncomfortable spending Derek’s money,” he mumbled.  Stiles had grown up on the salaries of an art teacher and a civil servant.  The casual way the Hales threw around cash was disorienting.  More s when it was for him.

“Oh please.  He’s your Alpha,” she said, like that explained everything.  _Werewolves_.  “Unless my brother’s harboring a burning desire to buy a Central African country he really doesn’t need it.”  She dug through her shopping bags in a multicolored flurry of fabric.  “Here try these.”

He liked the much more modest white chinos and shimmery black button down a lot better but it didn’t quite pass the test.

“Too dressy,” Laura said shaking her head.

“Looks like you’re trying too hard,” Aidan agreed.

“You want to look like you have expensive taste, not like you spent a lot of money.”

“God save me from fashionista creatures of the night,” he groused.

“Maybe a little more color,” Derek suggested.

Laura feigned shock, gasping at her brother.  “Well if _he’s_ saying it you might as well take that advice as gospel.”

The man scowled at her.

“Looking sharp dude,” said Scott’s disembodied voice.

“What the hell?”  He looked around in confusion and saw his laptop open on the table with his best friend’s smirking face filling up the screen.

“Let me see.”  Melissa shouldered her way into frame.  “Oh honey you look so handsome.  This outfit’s much more “you” than the last one.”

“My mortification is now complete.”

Cora tutted at him.  “Uh uh, we’re not done yet.”

He sighed and followed her.  “This time I’m picking the outfit.”

“Fine,” she huffed.

It took him a while to dig through the piles of clothes and find something he could stand putting on his body voluntarily.  “How did you know my size?”

Her eyes glowed.  “Our vision goes further into the infrared than humans’.  Seeing the warm spots makes it easier to guess how clothes would…hang.”

Between her suggestive emphasis and wandering leer he suddenly felt naked.  “You’re joking.”

“Maybe.”

He coughed uncomfortably.  “You want to step out so I can change?”

“You’re no fun.  Just consider yourself lucky I didn’t make you try on some underwear that doesn’t make you look like a twelve year old.”

“I _like_ my boxer shorts.”

“Fine, continue wearing circus tents.  I’m just saying, it would be a shame if you finally got Lydia to take off your pants only to send her running when she sees Batman staring back at her.”

“Did you just name my dick Batman?” he asked mischievously.  Laughter drifted in from the kitchen.

“ _Stiles_ ,” she groaned.

“No, it’s okay, I kind of like it.”

“Just _go_.”

He walked out with a little more confidence in his step this time.

“Wow, that’s the one,” Laura said appreciatively.

“Any chance you’re Bi?” Ethan asked with a leer.

Aidan smacked the back of his brother’s head.  “Don’t tease him.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“You should,” Derek put in.  “What?” the man asked when everyone turned to stare at him.

“Someone move the screen!” Scott yelled.  “Wow,” he said when Laura obliged, “Who knew you had style.”

“Thanks,” he said drily.

“It’s a shame you’re making all this effort for _Lydia_ ,” Melissa commented.  “You’re way too good for her.”

Stiles expected a lot of eye rolling and snickering but from the silence he gathered that the pack didn’t disagree, which was _ridiculous_.  “Okay everybody, show’s over.”

“Aw, already?”

“Boo!”

“This is better than Pay Per View.”

“Sorry guys, I’m out.”

“Actually there’s one more thing,” Derek said with an absolutely terrifying smile that Cora and Laura mirrored.

He was afraid to ask but the curiosity overcame him as usual.  “What?”

Derek held up a tub of hair gel.

Laura waved a spray bottle.

Cora snipped at the air with a pair of scissors.

“Oh hell no.”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Around two in the morning Stiles gave up the pretense of lying in bed trying to fall asleep.  He reached for the pack bond.  Scott, Laura, and Cora were all sound a asleep, tiny flickers of emotions sparking along the connections while they dreamed.  Derek, however, was a ball of concentration in his room.  Just like he’d expected.

He crept up the stairs, not hiding his presence, but moving quietly so as not to wake the wolves.  The Alpha had taken the attic and given the master suite to Laura.  To be fair it wasn’t much smaller and had a full bath  but Stiles had a hard time resisting the urge to tease the man about lurking around up there and calling him a werebat on the belfry.

Derek was at his desk, typing away on his laptop as usual.  “I’d ask why you’re up here in the middle of the night but…”

“But I come up here every night,” he finished.  “You know I’ve only ever seen you sleep the once?”

“I like to sleep in the morning after the rest of you leave.  That way I can rest easy knowing there’s a whole school full of people that can put you out after you set yourself on fire.”

“That was _one time_ ,” he said indignantly.  “Are we doing this or what?”

“Let me save this.”  The Alpha clicked on a few things and closed the laptop.

Stiles waited for him to stretch out on the bed before climbing on next to him.  “Is this as weird for you as it is for me?”

Derek made an exasperated growl-cluck sound, Hale speak for “stop being a melodramatic idiot”, one of their most used non-verbal phrases.

“Right, right.  Werewolves: tactile, etc.”  Even so they had developed some unspoken rules.  They could talk about anything honestly as long as they kept looking at the ceiling and not at each other.  Most importantly, while they maintained as much physical contact as possible without actually climbing on top of one another there was absolutely no snuggling, hugging, or cuddling.  Unless, of course, they fell asleep, in which case they had plausible deniability.

“You seem unhappy lately.”  The Alpha was never one to beat around the bush.

“Maybe a little,” he admitted.

“You feel like the fifth wheel because you’re human and you think Scott is your only real connection to the pack and he spends more time with Cora now than with you.”

“Stop being all insightful!” he sputtered.  “It’s creepy.  Is this some kind of magic twin transference thing?  Can you _catch_ psychotherapist?  Is that you in there _Laura_?”

The bed started shaking slightly.

“And now you’re laughing at me.  That makes me feel so much better.”

“Sorry.  You’re just really easy to read.  And totally wrong.”

If Derek was blowing smoke up his ass to make him feel better someone was getting wolfsbane in their coffee.  “Oh?”

“This pack only exists because of you.”

“Yeah, because I nearly blew up the town and got my best friend turned into a werewolf.”

Derek made that sound again, louder. 

“Okay, so maybe that wasn’t _all_ my fault.”

“You think?”

“Oh bite me wolf boy.”

“Now way, I might catch Stiles.”  The Alpha went silent for a moment but Stiles could feel his tension.  “Would you want the Bite?”

It was something he’d thought about long and hard.  Obviously it was out of the question for the moment, but his research into fixing his out of control magic situation was going nowhere.  There was a good chance he’d have to make the choice for real in the near future, possibly as a last ditch effort to survive.  It was why Derek had asked him “would”; all the complications surrounding the issue made it into a quagmire as far as informed consent was concerned.  “No,” he said finally.  “I don’t think I’d _ever_ want it but I don’t know _why_.”

“It’s the Alpha thing,” Derek supplied without taking even a second to consider it.

“Say what now?”

“Stiles, you don’t take direction from _anyone_.  You’d never be happy as a Beta and you’re too smart to risk trying to make it as an Omega.  That’s assuming the Bite would turn you into a wolf in the first place.”

“You mean instead of killing me?”

“Instead of turning you into something _else_ ; you’re way too stubborn to die.” 

There were a lot of horror stories about the things that happened when the Bite didn’t take right, ranging from slow excruciating death to being transformed into a mindless killing machine of terrifyingly non-specific anatomy.  “Even if I gave up my freaky powers my regular old human magic would still react unpredictably with the Bite,” he said in realization, feeling a little slow.

“Exactly.  And then there’d only be one way to become an Alpha.”

“I could so totally kill you.”

“Mm hmm.”

“Okay maybe not, but I could definitely kick your wolfy butt until you rolled over.”

“I’d say tell yourself whatever you need to to be able to sleep at night but…”

“Very funny.”  He took a couple of minutes to work out his next question in comfortable silence.  “You said there would only be one way for me to become an Alpha but I know of three others besides murder or a ritual challenge.”

“And?”

“And why is there an Alpha shortage?  That whole “True Alpha” thing is super rare and it would take a scary amount of power to turn someone into an Alpha magically, but isn’t become an Alpha by breaking off into a scion pack like you did the normal way?  I mean there’s _hundreds_ of Betas in California, why aren’t Alphas rising the way they’re supposed to.”

“I don’t think anyone knows for sure, but my guess is it’s because most modern werewolves are too human.”

“Is this that bitten/born thing again?  You still haven’t told me why it matters and every time I ask Deaton he does that mysterious smile thing and tells me to talk to you about it.  And if you say “it’s a pack thing” again you’ll be the one on fire,” he declared in his most threatening tone.

Derek took a moment to answer, probably so he wouldn’t laugh at Stiles’ attempt at sounding intimidating, the ass.  “Traditionally it’s considered extremely rude to talk about the inner workings of another pack, which is ironic.”

Stupid unwritten rules, that wasn’t in any of the lore books.  “Why ironic?”

“Because _all_ packs used to live like my family: on top of each other, knowing just about everything about everyone.  It takes a lot of trust to make that work.”

“Which makes talking behind each other’s backs a big non-no, got it.  Still not seeing the irony though.”

“Only my Mother’s pack works that way now.  All four of the California packs that actually have Alphas…”

“Five now,” he corrected.

“We’re new.  The point it all the established packs have about the same number of wolves because there’s a limit to how many an Alpha can safely control.  In the kind of pack like Kali, Ennis, and Duke have taking on more is dangerous because most of them are bitten in their late teens or early twenties.  They never learn to think like werewolves or bond with each other the same way a blood pack does.”

Stiles felt the familiar thrill of a puzzle begging to be solved.  “So the pack as whole is weaker.  Since it takes all of the Alpha’s power just to keep them from breaking apart there’s nothing left to kindle the spark of a scion pack.  Maybe if…”

“It’s just a theory.”

He forced himself to calm down.  “Argh, okay.  But what about our pack?”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s only five of us and I don’t really count.”

“For the last time, you _do_ count,” Derek growled.

“That’s touching, Der, but not what I meant.   We only have four _wolves_.”  Honestly he figured they had six at that point but that was a can of worms he didn’t want to open yet.

“So we’ll grow the pack.  It’s not something to worry about right now.”

“Alright,” he replied, but part of his mind was off looking for possible candidates.

“Tell me about Lydia,” the Alpha said, changing the subject.

“She’s more of a jackal than a wolf.”

“ _Stiles_.”

“Just kidding.”

Derek lay next to him quietly while he expounded on the wonder that was Lydia Martin.  He couldn’t talk about her to Scott anymore; the guy had reached his limit on the subject years ago and would go into a fugue whenever he brought her up.  Stiles couldn’t really blame him.  It was nice of Derek to listen to his ranting but he didn’t have Scott’s acquired immunity and cracked within half an hour.  “You’re kind of a stalker.”

“ _Harsh_.  Come on, dude, you went to high school.  Never mind, you’re a Hale, how would you know what’s it like to fall for someone you could never have?”  A spike of grief and pain lanced through the pack bond so intense it was a physical sensation.  “Derek?”

The man said nothing, just lay there still as a statue.   Stiles couldn’t even feel him breathing.

“Derek?”

“Paige.  Her name was Paige.”

“What…what happened?” he asked cautiously.

“I loved her, but she was human.  When the packs came to Beacon Hills to negotiate the Truce Ennis…”

“Bit her.”

“It didn’t take.  She was in so much pain and I didn’t know the Hunters weren’t on the warpath anymore so I took her to a place I knew where we would be alone so she…”

“So she could die in piece.”

“She…she asked to make it stop.”

Stiles had assumed it was killing Kate that had turned Derek’s eyes blue.  He should have known better; there was nothing innocent about her.  He’d wondered how she’d been able to con the guy so thoroughly.  Now he knew, and more than ever he wished she was alive so he could make her pay.

Screw the rules.

He rolled over and wrapped his arms around the Alpha and put his head over the man’s heart, but kept his face down.  No need for awkward eye contact.

Derek remained rigid for a moment before returning the embrace, burying his nose in Stiles’ hair.

They lay there like that while the Alpha’s breathing slowly evened out.   Werewolves were warmer than humans and despite being made of solid muscle the man’s chest was surprisingly comfortable as a pillow.  Just before he fell asleep for the first time in almost a week he heard a whispered “Thank you.”

 

 

He wasn’t asleep long.  Unfortunately it was long enough to start dreaming.

 

Stiles felt fingers carding through his hair lovingly.  It felt nice but was a hair too intimate for comfort.  “Uh…not that I don’t like the attention big guy…”

“Shh, go back to sleep brown eyes,” said a husky voice.  A husky _female_ voice.

He threw himself off the body underneath him and found Kate smirking up at him.  “Oh my God!  You _again_!?”

“You wished for me and here I am,” she said.

“Not for long bitch.”

She laughed, the sound of it shaking the room until it spun.

 

 

 

Derek was shaking his shoulder gently.  “Wake up.  You have school.”

“Ungh.  No school.  Sleep.”  Hopefully some Kate-free sleep.

“You’re already taking tomorrow off.”

He did his best to imitate a werewolf snarl.

“Very scary.  Up.”

Stiles clamped down on the man like a barnacle.  His brilliant plan went awry when Derek simply stood up with him still attached shook himself like a dog with a wet coat.

“Ow!” he squawked as he was thrown unceremoniously to the floor.  “What time is it?  Damn, we didn’t have time to talk about your script.  I had some ideas about the second act.”

The Alpha helped him to his feet.  “I’d say I was surprised you invaded my privacy and read it but…”

“It’s not like your password was hard to figure out.  The Hales’ first initials?  Family means everything to you.  It’s why I’m glad to have you looking out for me.”  The man looked simultaneously touched and stricken.  Stiles was going to have impose a moratorium on all pre-coffee conversation if he wanted to avoid having breakfast with a side of foot-in-the-mouth.  “I’m going to take a shower.”

He scampered.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“What did you do to Derek?” Cora asked as they walked into school.

“Not enough, from the smell of things,” Aidan quipped.

“It’s not like that,” he protested.  “We talked about some heavy stuff is all.  Back off.”

To his surprise the Alpha subsided immediately.

Ethan rolled his eyes at his brother.  “Don’t distract him, Stiles needs his head in the game.  Isn’t that right Scott?”

“Huh?”  The boy was scanning the throngs of bleary eyed students looking for Allison.  They had bonded over almost vehicular dogslaughter the other day and his crush had fed on the encounter like a fire in a candle factory.

“Still haven’t asked her out, huh?” he asked.

Scott sighed dejectedly.  “She wanted to meet up at the party tomorrow but…  Hey, do think there’s any chance Derek would let me out of the Wolf thingy?”

Stiles gave his friend a supportive slap on the shoulder.  “Sorry buddy.  Even if he could it’s your first Full Moon.  It wouldn’t be a very good date if it ended with you eating her.”

Aidan snickered.  “I don’t know; that sounds like the end of a _very_ good date.”

“Gross, you pig!” Cora barked, punching him on the shoulder hard enough to stagger him.

“I don’t get it.”

She swallowed a laugh.  “That’s okay Scotty; I’ll explain it to you when you’re older.  And you,” she said turning to Stiles and looking him up and down.  “I suppose you’ll do.  Lydia won’t know what hit her.”

“What a glowing commendation,” he replied drily.  He thought he looked pretty damn good.  In the end he’d picked out a tight cerulean v-neck and cargo pants in a dark goldenrod-toned khaki.  It had been hard to part with his hoodies but he couldn’t deny the lightweight aviator jacket made of supple brown leather made him feel a little badass.  The girls had done quite a number on his poor hair, shearing back the whimsical mop he’d come to like into something resembling a grown out military cut that somehow made him look years older.  Derek had provided the finishing touch.  In a surprisingly thoughtful gesture the Alpha had given him a small silver Triskele pendant on a thin leather chord.  It hung down to just above his sternum, highlighted by the V in his shirt and screamed “Hale Pack” to anyone in the know.  All in all he felt like himself, only a version that had never let come out and play.  “Let’s get to class.”

 

Not everyone was thrilled with his makeover.  Victoria Argent spent all of first period trying to set the five of them on fire with her withering gaze.  Scott got the worst of it.  She kept calling on him with penetrating questions about Kafka’s _The Metamorphosis_ (because their lives needed more irony) that would have stumped a grad student while Allison glowed crimson with mortification at her Mom’s unsubtle efforts to prove her prospective boyfriend wasn’t up to snuff.  By the end of class Cora and the Twins had all scooted closer to him so they could place a gently restraining hand on him.  Without them he would have lost his temper and done something unconscionable long before the bell.

When it finally, mercifully rang, Allison was first out the door, bolting with her head hung in humiliation and Scott hot on her heels.  Mrs. Argent tried to follow but Stiles finally allowed himself to cut loose a little.  He gave her a Chesire grin and clenched his fist, snapping the heels off her pumps.  Her death glare heated up to Solar Flare but he just sneered back at her and led the others out into the hall where Allison was apologizing to Scott.

“I’m so sorry.  I don’t know why she’s being like this.  I mean, I’ve had boyfriends before, and I’m turning seventeen in less than two weeks for crying out loud!”

“You’re almost _seventeen_?” Scott asked, shocked.

She groaned woefully.  “And that’s why I don’t tell people.”

“No I totally get it.  You had to repeat a year because you move around so much.”

Stiles mouth started moving before his brain.  “Damn, I was going to guess rehab.  No, teen pregnancy.”  His tone was light and joking but he’d obviously touched a nerve.

“Thanks, that’s much more familiar,” she said sourly.  “See you at lunch, Scott.”

“Smooth, Stiles,” Cora drawled while the girl beat a hasty retreat.

“Now what am I going to do?” Scott moaned.

“It’ll be okay, buddy.  Look at it this way,” he said with faux-cheer.  “You’ll never have to worry about her waking up one day and realizing I’m the pretty one.”

“You’re definitely not the smart one,” Cora agreed.

“Come on guys,” Aidan said dourly, “It’s time for Finstock to remind me and Ethan why we dropped out of high school the first time.”

 

 

The first and most essential part of Operation Stiles’ Love Life was also the hardest: he had to completely ignore Lydia.  As desperately as he wanted to strut and preen in front of her to see her reaction to his makeover he forced himself not to so much as look at her all day.  It was a simple trick but he could tell it was working.  In every class they shared Cora sat next to him so they could whisper while she gave him flirty little touches designed to provoke the other girl into making a move.  The more she hammed it up the more it meant the plan was working.  By the time lunch rolled around they’d layed the ground work pretty damn well.

“Okay guys, everybody clear on the plan?” he asked the others outside the cafeteria.

Scott alone looked uncertain.  “Isn’t this all a little…what’s the word, dubious?”

“Disingenuous.”

“Yeah, that.”

“No, this is high school,” he said seriously.

“Okay?”

“Come on, Scott.  Let’s go get you your girl,” Cora said rubbing his shoulders like she was loosening him up for a prize fight. 

That was all it took to get the boy back on task.  “Right, Allison.”

Stiles cracked his knuckles and reached for the door.  “Let’s roll.”

 

The plan was simple in essence: divide and conquer.  They swept into the room like they owned the place and descended upon they table where Lydia, Jackson, and Danny sat with Allison and a bunch of guys form the team.  Before anyone could react they squeezed into their designated spaces.  The Twins bookended Danny, Scott and Cora did the same with Allison, and Stiles waved one of the Lacrosse guys off the end of the table so he could sit next to Jackson at its head.

“Sup, guys?”

“Hey Brujo!” his teammates called.  Scott had dropped the nickname at Pizza on Monday and the team had latched onto it with a vengeance.  It had annoyed him at first but he’d decided not to fight it.  He didn’t like the calculating looks Jackson gave him every time someone said it though.

“We’re totally gonna crush Mystic Falls next week, eh Jax?”

In a sharp contrast to Argent’s fiery stare, Jackson’s glare was so cold Stiles was surprised icicles didn’t form on his eyelashes.  “What the hell happened to you?” the boy sneered.

“Cora got me,” he stage whispered conspiratorially.

“You look good,” Danny allowed, earning him a blast of his best friend’s chilling gaze.

He could feel Lydia’s eyes on him but carefully made his skip right over her, a challenge since she was crammed between Jackson and Aidan.  “Thanks man.  I figured new year, new look.  If I’m gonna hang with the cool kids I might as well look the part,” he said with his winningest smile.  The goalie grinned a little at the inclusive compliment, only to blush when Ethan leaned in and whispered something in his ear.  “Here’s what I’m thinking,” he said to the table at large.  “Since a bunch of us can’t make it to the party tomorrow, how about next weekend at our place we have a little housewarming thing?”  Derek was less than thrilled with this part of the plan but had buckled under the combined plaintive whimpers of the pack.

“Are we supposed to bring a potted plant or something?” Greenberg asked, confused.

“I was thinking more along the lines of a keg,” he suggested.

“You’re right, that’s better.”

While they ate the group bandied about ideas for the party, which turned into a heated debate about music and the best places to get alcohol underage.  The whole time the pack completely ignored Lydia whenever she tried to take control of the conversation.  When there was only about ten minutes left of lunch Stiles made his move.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, looking her dead in the eye for a second with a cocky grin.  He didn’t really have to pee but he went into the bathroom anyway to give the girl a chance to come after him.  When he came back out his heart sunk like a stone.  The hallway was empty.  “So much for that,” he muttered heading back to the cafeteria.  Before he made it the door of one the empty classrooms popped open and he found himself hauled inside.

“What is it exactly that you think you’re doing?” Lydia asked.

This was it.  _Confidence_ , he reminded himself.  “Hmm, I don’t know what you mean, but if I did I’d say it was working.”

She gave him a small smile that was in no way warm but definitely pleased.  “Maybe.  You’re very clever aren’t you.  Ignoring me, wearing new clothes, new attitude.  I appreciate a man who knows how to play the game.”

“Everybody likes a winner,” he agreed, taking a small but deliberate step closer.

“Exactly.”  This time she moved.

“And what about Jackson?”

“He’s not here, is he?”

Hooboy this was it.  The girl of his dreams was only a foot away and daring him to come get her.  There was only one problem.  While his eyes were locked on her face, burning with what probably was an embarrassing amount of desire, Lydia’s were moving all over his body in series of smooth transitions.  Stiles was probably the only one who’d ever paid enough attention to her to realize she was secretly a scary mathematical genius.  Normally it was one of the things that made her so captivating but right then he could all but see her running his numbers in her head.  Laura’s words from the night before came back to him in a moment of nauseating clarity.  Lydia _didn’t_ know him.  Now here she was ready to make out with him and she wasn’t even really looking at him, just doing the social math.  He was still invisible to her, only in nicer clothes.

“Yeah, this isn’t happening.”

“What?” she asked looking comically perplexed.

“If you want to be with me break up with Jackson and then we’ll talk.”  He took a jewelry box out of his pocket and tossed it to her.  “Here, I got you something.  Keep it, throw it away, burn it, whatever.  If you decide to keep it my phone number’s on the bottom.”

Her confused frowned deepened when she opened it and took out the folded up piece of paper inside.  “What is this?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” he muttered as he walked out of the classroom and kept walking.

His packmates must have sensed his turmoil because they were at his side the second he came out of the back of the school building.  “You okay?” Cora asked.

“Not really,” he replied honestly.  “Are you guys set on going to next period?”

“We hate math,” the Twins said cheerfully.

“Whatever you need,” Scott agreed.

“I want to blow off some steam.”

Aida looked thrilled.  “Excellent.  Derek’s always going on about how you fight.  I’ve been dying to see how you’d do against us.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Ethan asked dubiously, although in truth he only looked slightly less eager for some good old fashioned wolf bonding than his brother.

Cora settled it for them.  “Come on, there’s a great spot in the woods just off campus.  We can cut loose a little and be back by the end of the period.”

They were sold.

 

 

At top speed it only took them a couple minutes to find the spot but it was far enough away that nobody would stumble onto them accidentally.  They didn’t have time to waste so Stiles and the twins immediately stripped off their shorts while Scott and Cora stood lookout.

“Let’s see this Wolftron thing then.”

Ethan knelt down allowing Aidan to…at first Stiles couldn’t figure out what exactly he was seeing but it sent an army of incest jokes stomping through his brain.  The humor evaporated when fist followed arm until their whole body began melting into each other like _The Thing_ remake, redlining his werid-o-meter.

“Okay that’s…”

“Disturbing?” Scott suggested.

“Kinda hot?” Cora countered.

“Let’s just get to the fighting before my brain goes somewhere unfortunate.”

Twintron snarled in agreement and attacked.  It wasn’t a fair fight.  The Frankenstein-looking mega-Alpha was ridiculously strong but slow.  Fortunately this was all about blowing off steam by wailing on each other and in this form the Twins could take punishment almost as well as he could.  He abandoned finesse and technique in favor of reckless abandon.  It was fantastic, even better than dominating on the Lacrosse field.  His favorite moment came when he tried a flying kick, was caught, and flung into a tree trunk so hard it cracked.  In return he’d gotten a hold of one of the Twins’ ankles and swung them in a complete circle to slam them into to ground leaving a werewolf shaped crater.  After half an hour he felt much less inclined to bury the school in a plague of locusts out of sheer pique.

“Damn Stiles, Derek wasn’t kidding,” Aidan panted.  “How the hell did you get that powerful at sixteen?”

“We’re not really sure,” he admitted.

“Yeah, it’s still kind of hard for me to watch though,” Scott said.

“Why is everyone always trying to protect me?” he grumbled.

“Clueless,” Ethan chuckled.  People needed to stop doing _that_ too.

“Come on boys, we need to get back before we miss gym,” Cora sing-songed.

“I really didn’t think this through did I?”

He put his shirt back on reluctantly.  It was beyond weird that he was starting to feel more comfortable bare-chested than in his usual layers of fabric.  The clothes, the hair, the social climbing, it was all a smokescreen.  Lately he’d lost sight of what he was hiding and from whom.  It was definitely something he needed to work out but right then he had two more classes as well as Lacrosse and he needed to maintain the masquerade.  He could figure it out after Wolf Weekend, if nothing else earth shattering happened to make him put it off even further.  That was one hell of an “if”.


	13. A Little Fall of Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack has a wonderful afternoon at the Hale House getting ready for the Wolf Moon Celebration.
> 
> Something surprising happens at the opening ceremony that could complicate the new Beacon Hills pack's place in the werewolf hierarchy.
> 
> Ennis's scheming unleashes a terrifying new threat that puts the entire town in mortal jeopardy.
> 
> Derek decides to make a stand with heart wrenching consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the thrilling climax (I hope it's thrilling, anyway).
> 
> WARNING: minor character deaths and a cliffhanger.
> 
> Yes, the chapter title is a Les Mis reference, which will seem more topical by the end.

Again, Derek wondered if his brain was broken.  He had insisted that everyone go to bed early and get a good night’s sleep so they’d be ready for whatever, and then promptly ignored his own good advice and spent the entire night talking with Stiles.  In the end he only got about four hours of sleep right before noon after the Twins had left for their coffee date with Carloss.  Ever since he made his covenant with the Nemeton he’d been getting odd feelings, almost intuitions, but they had been nebulous things.  Today it was different.  He felt like the land itself was quivering with anticipation, and not of anything _pleasant_ either.  Things were about to come to a head one way or another and he couldn’t shake the impression he was the conductor of a runaway train about to go off the rails. 

“Yo Sourwolf,” Stiles called up the stairs, “It’s almost one o’clock; we’re almost an hour late!”

He closed his laptop with a sigh.  His script revisions had turned into a full-blown rewrite.  As much as he’d never tell the kid to his face he did have some good ideas.  Although at this rate he was going to have to add him to the byline.

“There you are,” Laura huffed when he walked into the kitchen after taking a quickie shower.  “Mom’s going to skin us alive if she thinks we’re trying to shirk helping set up.  Dad spent all morning dressing the venison for your special stew.”

“I deeply regret ever making it to begin with.”  He’d made a huge pot of it for Wolf Moon a couple years back and now he was expected to make it every year or face the throngs of hungry angry werewolves.

Stiles bounced into the kitchen.  “Carloss is all set up.  The plan is for him to start at sundown.  I just have to avoid getting pinned down by one of the emissaries until then.”

Laura looked troubled.  “Are you sure we shouldn’t ask for Deaton’s help with all this, or at least tell Mom?”

“No!” he and Stiles barked in unison.

“You worry too much sis,” Cora said breezing in and hopping up on the island.  “You guys ready?”

“Yup,” the boy said vibrating with excitement.  “I’ll pick up Scott on the way and meet you there.”

“Let’s go then.”  He led his sisters out to the Camaro with uncomfortable sensation he walking toward the gallows.

 

 

The clearing surrounding the Hale House had been transformed into something half tent city and half tailgate party and the wolves had only just begun to arrive.  By nightfall the place would literally be crawling with people.  As much as he hated working with the hunters he was glad Chris had his men patrolling the borders, not to keep them in but to keep the townspeople _out_.  He shuddered to think what would happen if some curious idiot wandered in once the Full Moon Run started.  Stiles had had a surprisingly good idea which he’d passed along.  Now the cops had specific instructions _not_ to break up the big party all the high schoolers were going to.  Better underage and drunk than underage and mauled to death after all.

Talia met them in the driveway, her usually precise hairdo gone flyaway in the chill wind.  “There you three are, finally.”  She gave them each a crushing hug.  “Cora, Laura, go Peter with organizing the tents before he starts clawing people.  Derek, your Father is out back with Niko working on the bonfire and getting your cooking area ready.  Where are the others?”

“The Twins should be here any time and Stiles is picking up Scott.”

Her smile was a little too nuanced for comfort.  “Good.  This is your first test as an Alpha.  It’s important that you present yourselves as a cohesive pack.”

“Are you expecting trouble?” he asked.

“Always.”

“Constant Vigilance!” Cora and Laura bellowed in a deep gravelly voice.

“Go on children, work to do.”  She sighed and stalked over to where a knot of wolves were snarling about parking spaces.

Cora was laughing under her breath.  “You’d think after eight years of this insanity we’d have a better system.”

“We better get moving before she makes us spend the entire weekend running the borders on guard duty,” he said ominously.

 

His Dad and Uncle Niko had the fire going already, including the charcoal pit he needed for the stew.

“There’s my boy.  You better get this started before the meat spoils.”

“Hey Dad, Niko.”  They took turns embracing him with lots of manly back-slapping.  The two of them had a long-standing rivalry for some reason no one was clear on, but taking it out on his ribs was a bit much.

“Come on, show us the eyes kid,” Niko demanded.

He did.

“That’s my boy!” his Dad crowed, glowing with pride.  “The first scion Alpha of the Hale pack since we came to California.”

“We?  You married in and took my sister’s name,” Niko grumbled.

“And yet I kick your born wolf ass in the games every year.”

Derek growled in fond exasperation.  “You two are like third graders I swear.  This year I’m kicking both your asses.”

“Bring it on pup,” they said in unison.

“Well the fire looks good so we better start setting up the tables,” David sai giving his brother in law a challenging glare.

“We each take half.  Loser buys the first keg?”

“You’re on.”

He watched the two of them jog off to the storage shed trying to trip each other the entire way.  It hadn’t hit him until just then how much he missed this.  He sighed in resignation.  Things were different now, and thinking backwards could actually be dangerous for his pack.  In the meantime the more present danger was to him if he didn’t get the stew done in time.  He flicked out his claws and started pulling apart the meat; there was so much of it using a knife would take forever.  The shredded meat went into the pot first.  Well, _pot_ might not be the right term.  Call a spade a spade, the thing was a damn _cauldron_.  He had no idea where his family had gotten the thing but it was thick cast iron and big enough for him to curl up in.  Whatever, it was huge and that was the point.   His new strength came in handy getting it over the pit.  Two towers of cinder blocks stood on either side of it supporting a log wrapped with a chain that dangled a hook for the pot.  Getting it on there without falling into the coals was always a bit of an adventure but after a few moments of dangerous swaying the cauldron settled in the right spot.

He had just finished pouring in the gallons of stock when a roar of mock protest reached his ears as Stiles came around the house.  At first he wasn’t sure because the boy was absolutely covered in children.  Most werewolf families these days were small and kept to themselves but all of them recognized their area Alphas.  This was probably the only time of year the werewolf children got to interact with wolves outside their own households.  Derek had no idea what it was about Stiles but the boy’s instant appeal t the cubs was apparently universal.  A group of parents followed in wake of the procession looking both amused at the sight and thankful for the respite from their hyper shifter kids.

“Grrarr!  Stilezilla cannot be defeated!  GRRARR!!!”

“I see that strengthening enchantment is working well,” he said in an effort to spread around an explanation for why a human boy could walk burdened with a dozen children, some of whom had to be at least ten years old if they were a day.

“Carloss does good work.  Whoops, not good enough,” he wheezed as couple more kids joined the pile.  “Going down!”  The children cheered as their prey finally fell beneath them.

“He certainly has a way with them,” Sam said drifting over from the knot of parents.

“Stiles is a weirdly compelling person when he decides to be.  According to Cora he’s led a coup and conquered the high school in less than a week.”

“Hmm.  But somehow I don’t think he’ll decide to become an emissary in the end.”

Derek didn’t reply but he definitely agreed with her, or at least hoped she was right.  “This has to slow cook for a few hours before I add the other ingredients.  I should probably go save him.”

“Go.  I’ll keep the coals at the right temperature.”

He extended his claws and fangs, lighting up his eyes and charging the puppy pile.  “RAWR!”  The kids scattered laughing and screaming with delight at the game.

“Thanks,” a squished-looking Stiles said.  “But the wolf children are easily startled.  They’ll be back soon, and in greater numbers.”

“Good thing the force is strong with you,” he said seriously.

“No joke.  Where are the others?  We should probably stick together for the sake of safety.”

“My sisters are with Peter.  I haven’t seen Scott or the Twins.”  Stiles shifted nervously.  “Don’t tell me…”

“Hey!  O fair with the wolf powers of perception!”

“ _Stiles_ …”

“Okay, so Scott might be a little late.  He promised he’ll be here before moonrise.”

“I’m going to _neuter_ him.  Maybe that will stop him from chasing after Allison.”  Maybe it was finally telling Stiles about Paige but he had a sudden terror of history repeating.  The packs were gathered, the Nemeton was hovering on the edge of his awareness, and now all that was needed was a tragic death.  He shoved that thought down, _hard_.

“I think it might be time to concede defeat on this one, but kudos for the dog joke.  See?  You can learn new tricks.”

“Are you calling me old?”

Stiles showed him his teeth.  “Is that Bambi I smell?”

“Freshly caught.”

“Yum,” the boy said dubiously.

“Go find the others.  I’m sure they’d rather help with babysitting than whatever Peter has them doing.”

“As you command Most High Alpha,” Stiles said with a curtsy.

“Just _go_.”

 

 

They wound up playing an absolutely ridiculous game of chain tag.  Stiles started out as “it” and soon had a column of giggling cubs on either arm, which quickly got interesting since the lack of space in the clearing forced them to play in between the trees.  His pack ran around just out of reach to give the kids a target.  Every time they missed the chains got wrapped around trees or accidentally clotheslined themselves into a giggling pile that took minutes to straighten out.  The really surprising thing was how Aidan and Ethan responded to the kids.  At first the Twins had looked at the children like a pack of rabid Tasmanian Devils, but after a while they were giving the stragglers piggyback rides and laughing in way he’d never heard from them before.  It was all so heartwarming he completely forgot everything that had been troubling him.  When his Mother’s howl finally called them back hours later he was reluctant to leave the happy bubble he’d found in the woods.  The kid insisted on rides, of course, so the pack went trotting back to the house like comically overburdened donkeys.

“Who wants to help me chop the vegetables!?” he cried when they reached the clearing.

“BOOOOOOO!!!” they shouted back, including his own pack.

“Well I guess that wasn’t a surprise, but you five have no choice.”

“Curses, foiled again” Stiles moaned theatrically.  A dozen or so of the kids immediately sprang toward him and formed a protective wall shielding him from the threat of healthy food.  “I’ll be fine my puppies.  I fear no roots or leaves!”  Derek shook his head and started cutting.  The werewolves that were so crazy about his recipe would probably never admit that it was the blend of veggies that made it so irresistible (inexplicably it was the mushrooms in particular that did it).

“This is going well so far,” Cora observed.  “Though seeing Derek do the Daddy Alpha thing is freaking me out a little.”

“Maybe it’s time for him to settle down,” Laura suggested eyeing a pile of sweet potatoes like they might try and fight back when she went to slice them.  “All the eligible werewolf bachelorettes are here.  If there was ever a time…”

“If he takes his shirt off right now there might be a riot,” Aidan snickered.

“Look around,” Ethan added, “You two aren’t the only ones impressed by his Mr. Mom.”

Derek reluctantly swept his gaze over the throng of werewolves swarming over the picnic tables groaning under the weight of all the food and milling around the frankly insane number of kegs.  Every unattached female between fifteen and forty was openly staring at him, as were a whole lot more that probably shouldn’t be and were trying to be subtle about it.  “I feel like a piece of meat,” he said uncomfortably.

“Dude, I will so totally get a bidding war going for your wolf stud services,” Stiles quipped.  “My commission is fifteen percent FYI.”

“ _Stiles_ ,” he groaned in despair.  It was too late.  His sisters had pulled him aside and were already in a heated discussion about candidates for matchmaking.  It was beyond horrific.

“Don’t worry man, we’ll keep them off you,” Aidan assured him.

“Be careful or they’ll be after you next,” he warned.

“This one time it pays to be into guys,” Ethan said.

Derek chanced another surreptitious sweep.  There were plenty of men staring too.  Werewolves, and Supernaturals in general, were pretty open minded when it came to sexuality.  Cultural pretenses kind of fell apart when you could literally smell arousal.  The human gay/straight dichotomy was actually a frequent source of amusement for them.  “Really?  Maybe it’s about _one_ guy?”

Ethan shrugged but a faint blush appeared on his cheeks.

Part of him wished Carloss could be there so he could enjoy watching the magician put his eldritch foot in his mouth.  The expression when the man would have on his face when realized he’d successfully pissed or offended over a hundred werewolves with his pathological lack of tact _needed_ to be photographed for posterity. 

“Since my sous chefs have gone Mental Yentyl…”  He tossed them each a potato.  “Consider it an Alpha training exercise.”

The Twins gave him a mutinous look but nodded and started peeling the tubers with their claws.  Even if everything else about the night went terribly wrong the stew was going to be delicious.

 

 

It was ready just after sunset and the intoxicating scent had already drawn a crowd.  He ladled out large bowls for himself and his pack and stepped back to let the horde descend.

“Let’s eat this on the front porch,” he suggested.

They followed him around the house, neatly dodging the people rushing to get in line, and settled down on the front steps.

“This is delicious,” Aidan said around a mouthful of the stuff.

Ethan rolled his eyes.  “Chew.”

“I feel like I’m eating Disney characters but I can’t stop,” Stiles moaned.

The werewolves all looked up when they heard a car coming up the drive.

“That’s Melissa’s car,” Cora said.

Stiles looked a little envious.  “Yeah, I’m never getting used to that.”

“Looks like Scott has decided to grace us with his presence,” he said sourly.

There were so many cars Scott must have parked almost a quarter mile away.  When the Beta finally made it up to them the stew was long gone.  “Hey guy!”  The boy’s hair was mussed and he looked so happy he was bordering on drunk.

“You have a good time with Allison?” Stiles asked mildly.

Scott sighed dreamily.  “Yeah.”

The Twins made gagging noises.

Derek was less than amused.  “As punishment for being late and _not telling me first_ …you get no stew.”

“Huh?”

“I’m pretty sure that violates the Eight Amendment Der,” Stiles chided.

“How about Scott promises not to give us any details and we all call it even?” Laura suggested.

“Wait, _what stew_?”

“Nothing,” they chorused.

“You better go get some food.  It’s almost moonrise and I don’t want you chasing rabbits while we’re supposed to be running.”

“That reminds me, where are the other Alphas?” Stiles asked.

“They’re with the emissaries doing some kind of big boundary spell to keep everyone inside the border and to keep the people outside from noticing the howling of a hundred werewolves,” he replied.

“Really?  That’s awesome!  Why don’t people tell me these things?”

“Probably because they’re afraid you’ll open the Hellmouth,” Scott said with a grin.

“Come on, not even _I_ could screw up _that_ bad.”  The pack shared a look and started laughing at Stiles’ accidental admission of his pattern of magical mishaps.  “I hate all of you.”

“No you don’t,” they countered in unison.

“Whoa,” Scott moaned woozily.  “I feel weird.”

“It’s the Moon,” h explained.  The hecatolite charm is blunting the effect but it’s still your first one.  It’ll hit you pretty hard.”

“Will I lose control and flip out?”

Cora smiled evilly.  “Oh totally.  Don’t worry, if you go feral we’ll be there,” she said wiggling her claws at him.

“That’s reassuring.”

Derek sensed the other Alphas approaching.  It was new feeling that made his hackles rise.  Not only were there four of them but they were all a hell of a lot stronger than him.  He felt a sharp pang of loss that his favorite event of the year had been transfigured from something joyful into something dangerous.  “It’s time,” he said ominously.

 

 

Secrecy was an inescapable part of life as a werewolf three hundred and sixty-two days a year, but there, on that night, it was the humans that were the odd ones.  As much as Derek loved totally cutting loose for the wild run that would happen when the moon reached its apex he felt bad for the handful of people that would be left out, the dozen or so dimly glinting pairs of eyes in a sea of glowing jewel-bright ones.  After the welcoming ceremony they would be confined to the house for their protection while the power of the Full Moon and the sheer number of wolves would raise the atmosphere to frenzy.

The four emissaries stood around the bonfire looking remarkably at ease, considering.  He knew Deaton and his sister Marin but the other two were less familiar.  The dour dark haired woman was Julia Baccari, Kali’s emissary, but the fourth was new.  Ennis must have ordered him from a catalog for sinister supernatural villains or something.  The ancient man was the picture of a fairy tale warlock, a dried up old spider with beady malicious eyes and an odd dusty scent that cut through the morass of bodies to tickle the nose unpleasantly.

Stiles gulped beside him.  “You know I’ve never really thought of Deaton as scary before.”

Derek knew what he meant.  It wasn’t just the incongruous appearance of a lot of black leather in the vet’s ensemble, it was his face, all four of their faces.  Their expression conveyed the weight of power and terrible wisdom.  Looking at them made him feel like an ignorant child.  “Just think, maybe someday you can be that scary _on purpose_.”

“Speaking of scary…”

He followed the boy’s gaze to find two set of Alpha eyes boring holes into them.  Kali and Ennis.  With the wolves separated into groups behind their Alphas he was acutely aware of how badly outclassed he was.  “Their packs are a lot bigger than ours.”

“Size isn’t everything Bro,” Cora snickered.  “Ow!” she hissed as Laura smacked the back of her head.  “Jeez, just trying to lighten the mood.”

The Twins sidled closer, vacating the painfully empty are set aside for their non-existent pack.  “Mind if we stand with you guys?” Aidan asked.

Stiles waved them over with a grateful look.  “Sure, the more the merrier.”  They took up position beside and slightly behind the boy, shoulders just touching.  “Um, that’s okay right?”

Derek sighed in resignation.  It actually _wasn’t_ alright; it was a potential minefield but it was a little late at that point to start caring about tradition.  “It’s fine.”  He saw a small smile on his Mother’s lips and couldn’t shake the feeling she was congratulating herself.  A glance over his shoulder revealed Stiles staring at her also, eyes narrowed in calculation.  The boy had figured something out; he’d have to remember to ask what later.

“You okay Scott?” Ethan asked a little nervously.

“”M good,” the Beta mumbled around his fangs.  The kid’s eyes were golden floodlights pulsing with restrained energy.

“We’ve got you,” Laura said soothing.  She and Cora pressed against him on either side to calm him with physical contact.  “Better?”

Scott blinked a couple of times, his humanity reasserting itself as his packmates help to anchor him.  “Yeah, thanks.”

An excited murmur ran through the crowd as the first rays of moonlight peeked over the horizon.  The trees blocked it from sight they could all feel it touching the magic inside them, even the pack humans stood straighter feeling it through the wolves they were bonded to. 

Talia Hale took a step forward from where her clan and the handful of families that owed her loyalty stood arrayed by their pack rank.  _One step_ , that was it, and all conversation ceased.  She didn’t even light up eyes.  Derek was awed as always by his Mother’s power and command.  He couldn’t see himself becoming a tenth of the Alpha she was if he lived a hundred years.

“Brothers and Sisters,” she intoned formally.  “Welcome.  We gather here by the light of the Full Moon to celebrate another year of peace and prosperity and to renew the bonds of friendship.  Alphas, let us greet one another in the fellowship of the wolf.”

She shifted into Beta form and howled, her family and allies adding their voices to hers as they shifted in response their Alpha’s call.

This had always been Derek favorite moment, the feeling of oneness as all of their heartbeats fell into sync as the pack became a single vibrant organism.  But this time he had to hold himself back and wait his turn.  Deucalion went next, followed by Ennis, then Kali.  When he threw back his head and called to his pack they answered with extra volume in defiance of their small number, even Stiles, who made a fair attempt at mimicking a howl.  He’d been expecting it. But when the Twins joined them he nonetheless felt a flicker of surprise that was swept away as a surge of power hit him in the gut.  It was much more than he’d have gotten taking on anew Beta but far less than he would have thought.  Then again, Aidan and Ethan were declaring themselves for the _pack_ (in particular Stiles, he suspected) rather than _him,_ which was significant.  It was also wildly unorthodox, and the deafening cacophony of hundred howling werewolves cut off prematurely, falling into shocked muttering.

“Sorry about that,” Aidan whispered, sounding not sorry in the least.

“It seemed like the thing to do,” Ethan finished.

He rolled his eyes and stepped up to them, gripping each on the shoulder.  “Welcome to the pack,” he said wryly.

“Group hug!” Stiles whisper-yelled.

Derek laughed as the pack surrounded him before he could protest.

Talia cleared her throat pointedly, sending them scrambling for the decorum they’d abandoned.  “Now as we wait for the Moon’s Zenith…”

“Let’s get this party started!” Peter interjected.

The wolves cheered while Talia gave her brother an exasperated look.  “Really, Peter?  “Let’s get this party started”?”

The man shrugged unapologetically.  “All the formality was putting me to sleep.  Agh!”  Catherine had come up behind him and sunk her claws into the slope of his shoulder.

“What do think, daughter?  Perhaps some ritual flaying for disrupting the ceremony?”

“I think I’ll grant him a pardon on account of the occasion.”

Derek had never known his Grandmother as Alpha, a fact he was glad for when she turned her imperious gaze on him next.  “And you!  You were always such a quiet boy these last few years.  If I’d known you were storing up trouble I’d have given you a reason to howl long before now!  _Three_ Alphas and a _Witchboy_ in a pack of _seven_?  Well I never!”

“I have a new Beta to look after so…”

“Fine, go.  Leave me here with the tatters of our sacred traditions!”

He gathered up his pack and shuffled towards the picnic tables while his Mother and Uncle tried to placate Catherine and the rest of the Hales fell over in stitches.

“Dude, your Grandma is the werewolf version of the scary Baptist lady that makes everyone feel nervous and judged at family reunions,” Stiles observed while filling a pitcher at one of the kegs.

“She can also hear you.”

The boy winced.  “Oh, right.”

“Hey Der,” Laura said softly.  “Cora and I are going to take Scott for a short run before the Main Event.  This all a little bit much for his first time.”

She wasn’t kidding.  The kid was sweating profusely and twitching with small abortive movements at every sound and scent.  “Go.  Take good care of him.”  His sisters nodded and made a beeline for the nearest trees more or less dragging Scott between them.

“Is he going to be alright?” Stiles asked, voice thick with concern for his best friend.

“Eventually.  Look,” he said pointing to a stream of people moving into the house, pairs of older wolves escorting younger ones.  “The newest wolves and kids that can’t control themselves are locked down in the basement for everyone’s safety.  Scott’s actually doing very well all things considered.”

Stiles looked a little nauseous at the idea of chaining up children but he nodded in understanding.  “Yeah, people get hurt when you lose control.”  The boy looked up at the roof where a patch of shingles stood out from the others, shiny and new, evidence of Stiles’ own struggles with control.

“Hey, don’t worry about that.  This is a party!” he said with a feeble attempt at cheer.

“Wow, I feel inspired,” Aidan snarked.

“No, he’s right,” Stiles said lifting the pitcher to his lips and chugging it down.

Derek felt the judging eyes on him.  “Does it matter at all to you that you’re only sixteen?”

The boy paused to breathe and let out an echoing belch.  “Nope.”

“Well I tried.”

“Come _on_ guys,” Ethan pled.  “I want to mingle.”

“You mean the Full Moon’s making you horny and you want to find a guy to hook up with,” Aidan corrected.

“What did I say?”

“Plus I want to get video of Derek crying when all the eligible wolfettes start hitting on him,” Stiles added.

“I deeply regret all of you,” he growled.

“Tough,” they replied.

Someone started up a portable generator and music blasted through night air.

“Awesome!” Stiles crowed.  “Wait til you see me get my wolf groove on.”

“That sounds…memorable,” Aidan said dubiously as the boy started to twitch and gyrate in something that could loosely be interpreted as a dance.

They were saved by Talia’s howl bringing the festivities to a screeching halt.

“Aw man!” Stiles complained as the music cut off.

“Alpha Derek Hale, please come forward,” she called in a tight voice.

The crowd parted instantly making a wide avenue for them.  He tried not to imagine it as a gauntlet and walked forward to where his Mother stood next to a smug-looking Ennis.

“Well this is going to suck,” Stiles hissed angrily.

Talia aimed a grim smile at the boy.  “Questions have been raised as to my son’s fitness as Alpha and a challenge has been lodged.  In accordance with the Truce the matter was brought before the council of emissaries and they have decided that it will stand.”

Stiles stepped forward.  “The hell it will!”

“Alpha Hale, please silence your _human_ _packmate_ ,” Ennis sneered.

“Stiles, please.”  He could feel the fury radiating along the pack bond from the boy being infected with something dark and dangerous.  “On what grounds is my status being questioned?” he asked looking at the emissaries.  Deaton looked every bit as furious as Derek felt.  Marin watched the proceedings dispassionately.  Julia looked guilty.  It was the fourth who answered with wicked glee.  “For failing to establish an independent territory, for placing a dangerous unaligned magic user in a position of prominence, for subjugating two fellow Alphas, and for consorting with a Magician of unknown intent, we question your judgment and doubt your ability to maintain order and enforce the Truce.”

He took a deep breath and tried to quiet the frantic beating of his heart.  Strictly speaking everything the man said was true and hit him in every one of the doubts he’d been harboring about himself.  There were plenty of extenuating circumstances, of course, but the reality was he had been living so far off book there was no real way to defend himself, at least by debate.  “And who is it that challenges me?  You Ennis?  Alphas are forbidden from fighting each other.”

“My second is ready to take on the role of leading a pack.  He is strong and embodies the qualities of a true Alpha.”  Derek wondered how long it took the Neanderthal to memorize so many big words.

“Stop this now, Ennis,” Deucalion warned, eyes glowing.  “I won’t let you risk everything we’ve built for petty revenges.”

The giant Alpha laughed derisively.  “I’m exercising my rights.  You can’t do shit about it old man.”

“Gentlemen,” Talia said cooly.  “If we could return to the matter at hand?”

Deucalion shot him a glance that was half apology and half pity.  It didn’t do much for his confidence.  “Yes Talia.”

“Then let the combatants step forward.  In accordance with our most ancient tradition the challenge is combat and will only end when one competitor has yielded utterly to the other.  The winner will take control of the pack and the loser will be relegated to Omega status therein and subject to his new Alpha’s authority.”

He couldn’t stop a shudder.  It was more than a humiliation.  If he lost, the challenger would assert his dominance decisively.  For all that werewolves had kept up with human civilization the dynamics of pack hierarchy remained brutally atavistic.  He swallowed down his apprehension and stepped forward to look his opponent in the eye.  The fact that he had to look down to do so would have been enheartening if he didn’t know the man’s reputation.  Killian Connors didn’t look imposing on the surface.  The man was maybe five-eight, muscled but not overly so, and had a freckled pixyish face under a close cap of flaming red curls.  The glowing steel-blue eyes gave away the lie of his appearance.  On the MMA circuit the wolf had been known as “The Shredder” before receiving a lifetime ban for extreme unnecessary brutality, which was _before_ Ennis had found and turned him.  Even with the extra strength he got from the Twins Derek gave himself ten to one odds at best.  He could hear some of the wolves in the crowd making bets that weren’t even that generous.

“Point of order,” Stiles said.  The boy’s voice held an unfamiliar authoritative resonance and carried a dangerous edge that cut off all conversation.  “As Derek’s second I invoke my right to stand before my Alpha.  If the leprechaun wants to fight Derek he has to prove he’s worthy by beating me first.”

Derek wondered how strangling the boy would affect the proceedings.  He was about to shout him down for his stupidity but the Twins each put a hand on his shoulders and shook their heads.  “I recognize my second’s right of challenge,” he said in a strangled voice.

Ennis looked like Christmas had come twice that year.  “Fine by me.”

“Not me,” Kali snarled.  “How can this human boy be an Alpha’s second, even if he is a witch.”

“Why does everyone keep calling me that?” Stiles asked tiredly.

Talia ignored the boy’s question and answered the Alphas.  “You heard them both say he was second.  They spoke truly.”  She turned to Killian.  “Will you withdraw your challenge?”

“Not likely.”  The man was eyeing Stiles like he couldn’t wait to see what his blood tasted like.

“Then clear a space.  I’m sorry, Stiles, but the fight is barehanded.  No spells, potions, or talismans are permitted.”

“Okay dokey.”

“Stiles, this is insane,” he hissed as the boy stripped off his shirt, shoes, and socks, dropping the talismans and amulets Carloss had made to act as a substitute for the power currently being concealed in the Nemeton.

“Derek, please.  You know I’ve got this.”

“I’m not worried about _him_.”  He sensed a dark thrill surge through the boy as he drew all his energy.

“If something happens Carloss can fix me.  Besides, there was no putting off my big debut forever.”

“Try not to kill him,” he said sadly.  He couldn’t think of anything else.

“No promises.  I’m ready.”

Ennis had watched their exchange quietly, except for the stream of vicious chuckles.  Killian was shifted and snarling at the dismissive way they’d been talking about him.  Derek almost felt bad for the man.  Almost.  This wasn’t going to last long.

The crowd of werewolves moved to encircle them, leaving Stiles and Killian in the center of a ring that included the bonfire.  The wavering orange light cast shadows that danced over the two of them like tribal designs as the challengers sized each other up.

“I wanted to thank you, kid.  Now I get two Omegas instead of one.  I can’t decide if I’ll turn you or not.  Either way we’re going to have a lot of fun.”

If the Twins hadn’t been there Derek probably would have thrown himself at the Beta right then and there, but Stiles just made an amused snort in reply to the perverse taunt.

“Let’s get this over with.  I have plans to tear up the dance floor.”

Killian attacked, rushing forward and aiming a swipe at the boy’s torso.  It wasn’t a killing blow.  The Beta obviously wanted to draw things out to a humiliating conclusion and conserve his strength.

Stiles had the opposite idea, lazily blocking the strike and driving his hand forward open-palmed into the wolf’s sternum.  Killian flew backwards like a line drive scattering the ring of onlookers to fall face down thirty feet away.  The man spit out of fountain of blood and promptly passed out.

The clearing went dead silent save for the crackling of the fire.  No one so much as breathed.

Ennis surged forward without a sound.

“Stiles watch out!” he cried.

The boy vanished.  The enraged Alpha spun in confused circles.  “Show yourself!  Fight me like a man witchboy!”

“Ennis stop this!” Talia commanded.  “The challenge is over!”

The giant werewolf sneered at her unaffected.  “Fuck that, he’s mine!”

“Yours?” Stiles voice asked seeming to come from everywhere at once.  “I might have a hard time finding a date but I do have _some_ standards.”

The Alpha roared and spun towards Derek with a wicked glint in his red eyes, intent obvious.  He didn’t feel terribly insulted at being viewed as he weaker target, but apparently that was the last straw for Stiles. 

A shimmering wave of force erupted from his hands as the boy reappeared directly behind Ennis, throwing the man forward and down and pushing him over the ground like a plough gouging a trench that ended at Derek’s feet.

Stiles walked towards the dazed Alpha like he had all the time in the world, eyes shining blue-white.  “Seriously, you think you’re the shining example of Alphadom?   You don’t even make a passable clichéd bad guy.”  The boy flicked his fingers, flipping the man onto his back.  “ _Derek_ is an Alpha.  _You_ are joke.”  Stiles raised his hand and the man rose into the air.  He clenched his fingers into a fist and the man began pawing at his neck, struggling to breathe.

Derek’s satisfaction was struggling to survive in the pounding waves of terror spilling off the crowd.  “Stiles,” he drawled, “Put him down before he wets himself.”  He hoped his feigned nonchalance would help reassure everyone.

“Sure thing boss.”

Ennis fell like a stone, sending up a spray of loose dirt as trench turned into crater.

Talia walked forward radiating fury.  “Ennis.  You attacked a member of another pack without provocation.  You and yours are banned from the remainder of the celebration.  I expect you to return here on Sunday to face the judgment of your peers.  In the meantime, get the hell off my land.”

Ennis pushed himself upright and spat a mixture of blood and soil at her feet before turning and stalking off into the woods without a word.  His pack followed, two of them carrying the unconscious Killian.

“Derek, perhaps you should take your pack inside while things…calm down out here.”

He nodded to his Mother and beat it indoors, Stiles and the Twins following in his wake.

 

 

“I guess the cat’s out of the bag,” Stiles said, taking a swig from the bottle of Jack he’d somehow scrounged up.”

“You think?” he replied, snatching the bottle and gulping down three huge slugs of the stuff.

“I haven’t seen anything like that since our old Alpha got into it with the leader of the L.A. coven,” Aidan said awed.

“You’re telling me L.A. is run by witches?  You know what, that actually makes perfect sense.  Scott and your sisters aren’t back yet Der.  What if they run into Ennis’s pack?”

He focused for a second.  His three errant wolves were off on the far side of the portion of the preserve claimed by the Hales, the exact opposite direction Ennis had gone.  “They’re fine.  He won’t come back into our part of the woods.”

“On the bright side I don’t think anyone will be questioning your Alphaness again.”

Ethan chuckled a little hysterically.  “Not after they saw _you_ taking his orders.”

“Couldn’t you have ordered me to get dressed?  I’m feeling a little self-conscious over here.”  The three werewolves laughed at absurdity of Stiles worrying what people thought of his physique.  “It’s not funny!  Not all of us can be werewolf cover model muscle gods!”

“You could always work out with us,” he offered.

Stiles muttered something unintelligible and started rooting through the kitchen cabinets, shouting “Score!” when he came up with a box of Goldfish crackers.

“Do you think we’ve been in here long enough or will people flee at the sight of us if we go back out there?” Ethan asked.

“The music’s back on,” Stiles hedged.  “Though maybe that was mostly to drown out Kali.  Were some of those secret werewolf curse words or something?”

He shrugged.  She had had a spectacular shouting match with Talia and Deucalion before gathering her pack and storming off after Ennis.  “Hopefully she’ll get him calmed down.”

“But what about everyone else?” Stiles asked looking guilty.

“Well, we’re in the Hale’s house raiding their kitchen and yet we still haven’t seen a one of them,” Aidan observed.

Derek coughed delicately.

“You don’t count.”

“Of course, what was I thinking,” he grumbled.

“So how is this three Alphas in one pack thing going to work?” Ethan wondered.

Derek had more or less given up trying to plan for the future.  “No clue.  Once we build the pack enough we could split in two?”

Stiles let out a breathy “Ha!”.  “I think this was Talia’s plan all along.  You don’t have a territory, Derek, and Aidan and Ethan didn’t have a pack.  You said she’s been trying to make inroads into the major cities.  It would take multiple Alphas to cover somewhere the size of say L.A.?  Plus, you’ve got your very own mystic badass to establish your cred with the Boss Witches.”

“It could work,” Aidan agreed.

“Let’s not get carried away.  You three have to graduate first.  Anything could happen between now and then.”

He wanted to call back the words as soon as they left his mouth.  Hell, he had a scene in _his own god damn screenplay_ that used that line.  Sure enough, everything went to shit a second later when an Alpha’s roar of challenge echoed through the night.

“Ennis,” snarled.

“Huh?” Stiles asked confused, looking around like he expected the man to pop out from behind the counter.

Derek didn’t get a chance to explain before the boy collapsed to knees clutching the sides of his head and screaming.  He felt a hot tingle in the back of his mind that filled him with an inordinate amount of dread as he knelt down.  “Stiles!  What’s wrong?” he asked frantically, only to recoil when he saw Stiles’ face.  The boy’s features were twisted up, not from pain or terror, but from pure unadulterated _rage_.  Yet, for some reason he could only get a glimmer of it through the pack bond.

Stiles opened his eyes.  They were glowing Alpha red.

“What the fuck!?” Aidan yelled.

“Carloss,” Stiles choked out.

Horror hit him like a truck when he realized how badly they’d fucked up.  _Of course_ the magician would be alarmed when Stiles suddenly yanked his power out of the tree.  The guy knew better than to cross onto Hale land so he must have waited by the border.  Ennis and his pack had probably walked right into him and tried to take out their humiliation on a convenient target.  Apparently is hadn’t gone well, for the Alpha at least.  “There’s nothing we can do.  Ennis’s pack will tear him apart long before we can…”

A second roar split the air.  It wasn’t any louder but it was pervasive, so full of wrath the fraction of its power that reached the crowd outside was enough to provoke more than a few frightened screams.  And it was _not_ the howl of a _wolf_.

Stiles was getting worse.  The house began to shake as the fury overtaking him tore away his control of the massive well of power he carried.  But _how_ …  “The link!  Stiles, I think the psychic link between you and Carloss is trying to turn into some kind of mutant pack bond.  You have to break the connection now!”

“I don’t know how!” the boy snarled with tears in his eyes.  “I can’t shut him out!  He’s so strong and it just keeps building and…”

“Listen to me!” he roared.  “You’re my mystic badass, remember?  Magic is about belief.  Our friend is in trouble, _dying_.  Believe you can do this.  Believe you can save him.”  He felt like a real son of a bitch trying to play on the kid’s fear of loss but they had no _time_.  He couldn’t have explained how he knew but that tickle in his mind told him that somewhere out in the preserve the ground was eagerly soaking up the blood that was pouring down like rain.

Stiles screamed once more as the kitchen cabinets flew open, vomiting their contents everywhere, and made a motion like he was pulling a ripcord.  The violent telekinetic storm subsided as the boy fell forward into Derek’s arms, gasping and sobbing.

“Will someone tell us what the hell is going on?” Ethan yelled.

“I’d like to know that myself,” Talia said direly, flanked by Deucalion and the four emissaries who were currently staring at them like they were monkeys from _Outbreak_ , something dangerous and infectious.

Stiles lurched out of his arms and got to his feet.  “We have to go now.  We have to stop Carloss before he follows Ennis’s scent back here.”

“There are over sixty wolves here, five of them Alphas.”

The boy shook his head, wide-eyed and trembling.  “That’s not going to be enough.  Let us handle this.  I’ll try and wear him down enough for Derek and the Twins to pin him.  After that…we have to hope there’s enough humanity left in him to reach.”

“Surely you’re overestimating the danger,” Talia scoffed.  “The Bite will have destroyed his ability to use magic.”

“The boy’s fairy blood complicates things,” Deaton corrected.  “Stiles, have you considered the possibility that he’ll have enough presence of mind left to counter you?  What happens if you fail?”

“We don’t have a choice!” Derek shouted.  “Mother, send someone to find Cora, Laura, and Scott.  We’re leaving _now_.”

For a second it looked like she was going to argue, but red faded from her eyes and she seemed as she shrank in on herself looking older and more tired than he’d ever seen her.  “Go.  Alan, see if you and your colleagues can work up a last line of defense.”

Derek turned to Stiles.  “You know where he is?”

“Follow me.”

 

 

They ran at top speed following Stiles through the woods.  At first Derek wondered how they were going to find one…whatever Carloss had become, but after only a few minutes the air was so thick with the scent of blood and death it was a like a neon sign pointing the way.

“What happens if he has enough of his mind left to counter you?” he huffed out as he ran.

Stiles didn’t look strained at all by the exertion.  The cold sweat running down the boy’s face smelled only of fear, not exhaustion.  “He kills me, eats me, and becomes unstoppable.”

“And this is plan A?” Aidan asked in disbelief.

Derek tried to come up with something encouraging but he ran out of time.  They arrived at their destination, skidding to a halt before a scene out of a nightmare.  For a moment his mind tried to reject what it was seeing.  There was blood _everywhere_.  The ground had been churned into sticky dark red mud, every tree in sight looked like it had been afflicted with some kind of sanguine-hued blight, and the only splotches of contrasting color to be found were on the remaining scraps of clothing that had somehow stayed clean despite their owners’ messy demises.  Stiles looked like he was about to pass out.  Derek doubted he’d be far behind him.  The corpses numbered in the _dozens_.  Too many of them were in pieces to make counting easy but he guessed he was looking at the entirety of Ennis and Kali’s packs.  Some faced away from the center of the massacre, cut down as they’d tried to flee.  Others bore multiple gaping wounds and ragged bite marks from trying to fight.  Most, however, seemed to have been simply smashed flat like they’d given up and fallen to their knees in surrender only to be crushed without mercy or hesitation.  Worst of all, some were missing huge chunks of flesh like the victims on _Shark Week_.

In the middle of the killing field was a bear, a full grown Kodiak that easily weighed over a ton.  It’s thick shaggy pelt was stained almost solid scarlet but a few tufts of fur still glinted copper in the moonlight.  Werewolf claws could gouge holes in solid steel but were poor weapons for penetrating layers of hide, fat, and sinew.  A regular grizzly would have been a dangerous opponent even for a pack.  Against a feral Alpha werebear they might as well have been human children with plastic knives taped to their fingers.

The beast that had been Carloss fixed its furious crimson gaze on them and Derek suddenly felt very small.  It opened its massive jaws and roared.  The magician’s power as a practitioner of High Magick might have been lost but his voice carried a magic that was far older and wilder, blending seamlessly with the feral spark of an Alpha shifter.  The compulsion to cower in submission was overwhelming.  If Derek had been anything but an Alpha in his own right he would have been driven to his knees.  As it was he staggered and the Twins only remained upright because Stiles was supporting them.

“Join together,” the boy ordered.  “It’ll help fight the influence.”

H heard the sickly popping sounds as Aidan and Ethan combined into their giant Beta form but kept his eyes on bear!Carloss.  Its fury redoubled at their refusal to bend.  Derek watched in horrified fascination as it reared back onto its hind legs and shifted into…something else with a grisly grinding of bone.

“I think we need a bigger boat,” Stiles squeaked.  The creature facing them was half bear, half gorilla, a terrible ursine version of the werewolf Alpha shape.  “Take it from the sides try and grab its…uh…wrists.”

Derek stared at the malformed joints thick around as tree trunks and wondered if maybe Killian had scored a blow to the boy’s head that he had missed.  There was nothing for it though.  He and the Megatwin circled to opposite sides to flank Carloss while Stiles charged straight in and released a coruscating wave of shimmering energy that hit the beast like a freight train.  It rocked back overbalanced but didn’t fall.  They took their window, leaping forward to grab its massive arms and haul its massive torso down ward before it could regain its footing. 

Stiles grabbed the sides of its head and shouted, looking it straight in the eyes.  “Carloss!  Listen to me!  It’s Stiles. You have to fight it, find an anchor, control…”

It dipped its head down and struck Stiles in the chest sending him flying.  With a roar of triumph it brought its arms together and slammed Derek and the Megatwin into one another and threw them as well.  They hit the ground hard on either side of Stiles.

“Any other ideas?”

The boy licked his lips.  “Other than trying to kill him and getting really lucky?  One.  Wait here.”

“What!?  _Stiles_!”

But the boy had already scrambled to his feet and was marching right up to the beast which looked confused at his deliberate stride.

“Hey Paddington!  Na na na na na na!”  Stiles stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry.  It was such a bizarre and incongruous sight Derek almost laughed.  The beast apparently had enough humanity left in it to know when it was being mocked and roared in fury.  Stiles smiled and chucked something small and green into the gaping maw.  It was the turquoise bear fetish Carloss had given him.  While the beast gagged on the little stone Stiles crouched into a ball and surged upward, driving all his physical and magical muscle behind a brutal uppercut that connected under its chin in a blast of cold light.  The boy jumped back as the beast fell forward onto its chest with a dazed look in its eyes.

“Quick while it’s down!” The Twins snarled in a terrifying basso voice.

“It’s over,” Stiles replied, breathing heavily.  The beast’s body rippled and contorted, fur disappearing as it shrank into the form a blood drenched man.  Carloss coughed and spat the totem out into a hand that still bore a set of heavy claws.  The boy knelt down in front of him.  “You’re okay now.  Everything’s going to be okay.”

Derek hauled himself upright and popped his shoulder back into place with a hiss of pain as the Twins separated from one another.  “Stiles be careful, he’s not in control,” he said walking over to stand juts close enough to yank him back if he had to.

“Damn it Derek!”

“No he’s right,” Carloss wheezed.  “I can’t…I can’t hold it for long.  Stiles…my knife.”  The man’s eyes drifted over to Ennis’s body, unmarred save for the hilt sticking out of his chest directly over the heart.  “Please…I want it to be you.  Before the hunters or the wolves…”

“Fuck that,” the boy snarled.  “There has to be some other way.”

Carloss screamed and bucked as his body bulged and rippled, claws digging furrows in the ground.  _Claws_.  “There is,” Derek said softly.

Stiles followed his gaze, eyes widening when he got it.  “Will that work?”

“Are you insane?” Aidan hissed.

“It’s his only chance,” Ethan argued.  “The moon hasn’t even peaked yet and he needs to learn control _now_.”

Derek helped Stiles bring Carloss up to kneeling.  “Do you know how this works?”

“Not really,” the man admitted, “Just the theory.”

“I can take it.”

“I’m sorry,” the bear whispered sinking his heavy claws into Derek’s neck.

It felt like his brains were being scrambled with a red-hot poker as the man raked though his consciousness, searching out everything he knew about being a shapeshifter.  As he did Derek caught bits and pieces of Carloss’ thoughts and memories in return.  A few agonizing seconds later it was over and they broke apart gasping and shuddering.

“Are you two okay?” Stiles asked checking them over frantically.

“Better now,” Carloss replied.  “Except that I’m naked and covered in werewolf innards.”

Derek rubbed the punctures on his neck.  “Ow,” he said succinctly.

Ethan looked around at the piles of bodies.  “Uh…the only clothes that look okay are Ennis’s but I doubt they’ll fit too good.”

Carloss laughed ruefully.  “It’ll be fine.”  The man stood, rolling his eyes when Stiles hurriedly averted his gaze.  “You can look if you want.  Modesty seems a little silly when you’re surrounded by the bodies of all the people you just murdered.”

“None of this was your fault,” Stiles protested, jaw dropping when the man’s started stretching and widening, extra body fat melting away as the bearish physique transformed into some six and half feet of chiseled muscle, even the blood clinging to him seemed to be absorbed into his skin.  “Holy crap!  How did you _do_ that?  Come one you have to show me!”

“Stiles, not the time,” Derek sighed.

“Did you see that?  He got bigger _everywhere_.”

“It’s a shifter thing,” Carloss said dismissively while he stripped Ennis’s body.

Stiles gave Derek a speculative look.

“Don’t look at me.” 

“Wow,” Aidan murmured appreciatively.  “Having seconds thoughts there E?”

“Uh…yeah kind of.  I mean _yikes_.”

Carloss tugged on the dead Alphas jeans and shrugged into his leather jacket, rooting around a pile of cloth scraps that must have been the clothes he was wearing when he first shifted, reclaiming his belongings.  “I can’t believe I was so _stupid_.  I just came running, didn’t think to put my protections back on after the circle broke or _call you on my fucking phone_.”

“I get how you could use your natural mutability of form to alter your body shape but where did the extra mass come from?” Stiles wondered aloud, undeterred.

“I just had a big meal and plenty of DNA to use as a template,” Carloss said darkly, turning a little green at the memory.

“Oh, right.  Sorry I asked.”

“Come on. I want to have a word with Talia.”

 

 

They ran back just as fast as they come, only slowing down briefly when then crossed onto Hale land.  There a freestanding boulder had been carved with a Triskele marked the boundary.  Carloss slashed his claws through it leaving inch deep gouges in solid stone.  Derek was glad he managed to escape being on the business end of those.

 

The remaining wolves had formed a tight defensive circle around the house.  Most of them were shifted.  The sea of glowing eyes and glinting claws might as well have been the were’ equivalent of torches and pitchforks.  As they approached Talia, Deucalion, and his missing pack members strode out to meet them, the emissaries following a beat behind.  Julia had tears streaming down her cheeks and was leaning heavily on Deaton and Morell.

“Mrs. Hale,” Carloss greeted them, pointedly excluding her titles and status.

“I take it Ennis. Kali, and their packs are no longer with us.”

“In a way they are.  After Ennis bit me I killed him, took his pack, and ripped them apart.  Then Kali showed up.  Rinse and repeat.  Each wolf I claimed and killed added to my own strength.  But no, I wouldn’t say they were alive in the strictest sense.”  The man smiled bitterly as he watched his words sink in.

Derek felt a chill.  An Alpha slaughtering their own pack for power…it was _unthinkable_.  But now that this was out there it could change everything.

Ennis’s former emissary had had enough.  “Talia!  Don’t just stand there.  This abomination and the child Darach are threats to us all.  It is your sworn duty to eliminate them!”  There was a shrill whistling, a flash of steel, and one of Carloss’ knives buried itself in the old man’s thigh with a sharp crack as the femur shattered.

“You three take him and go.”  They emissaries carried their screaming fellow into the house without argument.  “As for you, Talia, I don’t care about your political agenda.  I don’t care about werewolf law.  And I certainly don’t care what you think about me.  Beacon Hills is my home now.  Accept that and leave me be and we’re good.”

“Understood.  Derek, would you please see he makes it home without incident.”

“We’ll take him,” Ethan offered.

He nodded gratefully.  The werewolves watched them go in silence, taking a relieved breath when the purr of the Twins motorcycles faded into the distance.  “Stiles, I want you to go back to the house.”

“No fucking way!” the boy said indignantly, swaying a little.

“You’re exhausted.  You need sleep.”  He tried to communicate his fear of reprisal with his eyes.  Stiles had scared the hell out of pretty much everyone there and right then he was vulnerable.

It seemed to work.  “Fine.  But you’re taking my place in the dinner rotation.”

“Deal.”

Stiles shook he head and stalked off toward his jeep, collecting his clothes on the way, werewolves falling all over each other to get as far out of his path as possible.

Cora and Laura rushed to his side dragging a semiconscious Scott.  “What the hell happened” his twin asked in a tight voice.

Derek had no idea where to even begin.

“If you’ll wait a moment, Laura, we can all hear it together,” Talia said.  She turned to face the gathering t large.  “If you would like to participate in the run the time is now.  If not, please retire to your tents.  Otherwise I’m afraid the celebration is over for tonight.  I need to confer with my children.”  Deucalion traded significant looks with her and led the way towards the edge of the forest followed by his pack, the older Hales, and most of the unattached wolves who were all too eager to get the hell out of there.  None would meet his eyes as they hustled by.  Silence reigned barely two minutes later.  Aside from the group of werewolves in the basement and the humans tucked away upstairs they were alone as they could be.  “Now, come inside and explain exactly how this happened.”

Derek followed his mother inside feeling like he was headed for a time out.  It was so ridiculous he nearly laughed out loud, but humor evaporated when the three emissaries still standing stepped up and stuck syringes in his packs’ necks’ before they knew what hit them.  “What the fuck is this!?” he demanded as Scott and his sisters slumped to the ground.

“I’m sorry my Son, but we have to contain this situation.  The loss of two whole packs has jeopardized the balance of power enough.”

“Stiles,” he growled in realization.  “You’re going after him and you want to keep us from stopping you.”

She shook her head.  “I’m meeting Chris to decide how best to deal with Carloss.  He has too much power under too little control.  Alan and the others will handle Stiles.”

“And by “handle” do you mean “kill”?”

She flinched at the accusation.  “I thought he was simply an exceptionally gifted young man.  We didn’t know what would happen to him when we burned the Nemeton.  We had to dispose of the Faerie’s bodies so we piled them beneath the roots of the tree and doused them in gasoline.”

Derek did laugh then.  It was so obvious in retrospect.  Fifteen Faeries had been “sacrificed”, their blood soaking the roots of the old Great Oak sending vast power into the Nemeton.  Somehow it had found its way into Stiles of all people and set this whole chain of events in motion.  “I see.  So one Stilinski is already dead because we were careless and now you want to complete the set?”

“I will do everything in my power to make sure Stiles survives,” Deaton said somberly, “But the ungrounded power within him is a danger to the entire town and him as well.”

He looked his Mother dead in the eye and snarled “I will never forgive you for this.”

“I know.”

He never saw exactly who or what knocked him out.


	14. Light a Candle for Me While I Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles falls into the emissaries' clutches and has to think on his feet in order to survive but his actions change one person's life forever.
> 
> In the aftermath the pack faces hard questions about the future.

Things at the Wolf Moon had gone so spectacularly wrong it was almost funny, but Stiles could do the math on this one just fine and there was going to be nothing funny about the fallout.  Power vacuums like that one that just opened up didn’t stay empty for long.  Worse, Talia’s empire was crumbling down around them.  The other supernatural powers she had made alliances and treaties with were unlikely to let such a golden opportunity pass them by when it would be relatively easy to sweep in and claim her power and influence for themselves.  When they did they would also find the Nemeton.  He seriously doubted he could keep it hidden without Carloss’ help.  It was massively unfair but the oath’s the guy had sworn prevented him from taking the Bite.  The fact that it had happened against his will was a technicality as Stiles understood things.  He was going to have to learn enough High Magick to manage on his own.  Unfortunately between the ever growing influence of not!Kate and the dubious origins of his own power it was unlikely the White would agree with him.  That left the Dark, a thoroughly terrifying notion.  He had crossed a couple of lines lately, sure, but embracing the same evil power that had accompanied the demon that had invaded their home…that was a whole other kettle of fish.  While all tat churning through his mind and the whopping amount of energy he’d expended fighting Carloss and forcing the werebear’s shift it was no wonder he passed out the second his butt hit the couch.  He barely had the presence of mind to activate the house defenses.

 

A text alert woke him.

He pulled out his phone and looked at the screen.  It was from Lydia, the underhanded manner in which he’d gotten a hold of her cell number was one of those lines he’d traipsed right on over.  The massage was simple, a few mathematical squiggles he couldn’t interpret (and had no idea how she did that on a _cell phone_ ) and the words “Thank You”.  He smiled remembering how he’d wracked his brains for the perfect I See You And Love You For Who You Are Please Go Out With Me gift.  In the end he’d found some brain twisting mathematical equation a professor at MIT had concocted to torment his grad students.  Lydia had solved it in less than forty-eight hours while attending high school, watching Lacrosse practice, and going to a Friday night party.  It was a little scary, but Stiles was happy to see that at least something in his life was going the way he’d planned.

The glare reflecting off his phone shocked him out of his fuzzy pink reverie.  It was day, late morning by the angle of the light streaming through the windows, and he was alone in the house.  That wasn’t right.  He checked the pack bond and only got more concerned.  His best guess was the Aidan and Ethan were somewhere in town, probably still helping Carloss process his sudden change of species and ensuing murderfest (something he was trying not to think about himself, ick).  He could barely sense the others at all, not even Derek, not even well enough to guess at a general direction.

His freak out was just building up a head of steam when his phone rang.

“Derek!?”

“Stiles, it’s Deaton.  You need to come to clinic right now!” the vet screamed in obvious terror.

“What’s going on?  Is Derek..”

“He’s here,” there was a loud crash and the sound of a woman screaming.  “We can’t hold them off long!  You have to…”

The line went dead.

Stiles hand clenched reflexively out of anger and fear, crushing the phone to splinters.  His liking of the emissary, all emissaries, was at an all time low but the fuck he was going to let anyone attack his pack.  Now that they were done with secrecy (mostly) he wasn’t going to hold back.  Whoever had made the mistake of coming after them was going to beg for death before he through.  He grabbed his keys and ran for the door while Kate applauded from the vaults of his mind.

 

 

He screeched to halt in front of the clinic and leapt from the Jeep without even turning off the engine and burst through the front door ignoring the “Closed” sign.

“Deaton!” he called rushing for the gate that led to back, only to be brought up short as he slammed into an invisible wall.  In his haste he hadn’t even seen the ritual painted on the floor.  He screamed in defiance and threw all his rage and power at the trap but it was no good.  He was bound completely which meant…

“I’m truly sorry for this, Stiles,” Deaton said as he emerged from the back followed by Julia and Morell.  They had used blood and hair plenty of times in their lessons.  The vet must have kept a sample, which meant he had absolutely no hope of breaking a specifically attuned trap supported by the wills of three trained emissaries.

He cursed himself for his carelessness.  Derek had sent him home for a reason; he’d gotten that much through his foggy brain the night before, but he hadn’t imagined the depth of the betrayal playing out in front of him.  “You don’t understand what you’re doing.”

“There’s no other way.  If you had come to, told me the truth maybe we could have found an alternative.”

“Ms. Morell,” he pled.  “You’re supposed to be a _Guidance Counselor_ , how can you go along with doing this to a student.”

“You were supposed to be a normal sixteen year old boy.  You were never meant for this life.  Our duty is to the Balance.  It’s our job to correct the Hales’ mistake.”

He didn’t really know Julia, but the haunted, grief-stricken look on her face was all he needed to see to know that she wasn’t even _there_ enough for him to reach.  “I never asked for this, you know.”

“No?” Deaton asked sadly.  “Talia said there was evidence someone had been frequenting the cellar beneath the Nemeton.  It _was_ you, wasn’t it?”

His old hidey hole was the site of the old Nemeton.  Duh.  Giant tree stump, weird ritual candles and jars full of funky-looking stuff.  Maybe he hadn’t wanted to know.  But Derek _must_ have.  If he lived through this the Alpha better have one hell of an explanation.  “I went there to get away from…things.”

“After your Father died,” Deaton said with a nod, suspicions confirmed.  “You have the gift.  In your grief you wished for the power to defy life and death and the Nemeton responded even as it burned.  The magic of a Faerie court.  It’s a power you were never meant to have, that no man can have and survive it.”

Hells Bells, they didn’t know.  They didn’t know about the cutting he had taken from the great tree or that the Nemeton had been rebuilt.  If they stripped him of his power it wouldn’t ground out harmlessly into the earth.  Instead, it would rush back into the tree and shatter the containing enchantments.  Without Carloss to repair them Beacon Hills would become ground zero for an explosion of supernatural mayhem.  “Please, I _can_ handle it.  I can swear limiting oaths if I have to.  If you strip the power for me like this it will kill me.”

The vet at least had the grace to look guilty.  “I’ll do my best.”

Apparently that was all the lame apology he was going to get.  He thought furiously, desperately searching for a way out of this mess.  Force was out, that left cunning.  He had nothing.  In all likelihood he was about to die, leaving his pack to face the clusterfuck he was largely responsible for.  The _hell_ he was going to let that happen.  Scott would never forgive himself and Derek…he didn’t know what exactly.  There was no word for their relationship, even Alpha and second didn’t describe it.  Stiles had come feel closer to the man than anyone else, _ever_ , even his parents.  If their situations were reversed losing Derek like this would destroy him, either that or turn him into something dark and unrecognizable.

Some impulse compelled him to put his hand in his pocket as the druids began the chant that would end his life.  He felt the cool stone of the turquoise bear.  The last time he had seen it was when Carloss coughed it up like a hairball and had no idea whatsoever how it got there, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He could feel the spell begin to pull at him, shearing away at the edges of his spirit.  The talisman in his hand was powerful but not at all designed for what he had in mind.  He sent his thoughts down to the artificial elemental entity that dwelt within and believed as hard as he could that it could do what he needed.  For a second it seemed to glimmer as the emissaries shouted out the end of their chant.

He fell to the ground limply.  Whether his desperate gamble had worked or  
not the power was gone, leaving him burned out and broken.

“Hurry, he’s still alive!  We have to…” 

Deaton’s voice was lost, drowned out by the ringing in his ears.  A far as deaths went he supposed it could have been worse, although that annoying ringing was rising to a buzzing, then a shaking.  He felt one last feeble flicker of hope return to him when he realized it wasn’t his head that was vibrating like a tuning fork.  It was the _floor_.

The emissaries staggered as great gaping rents appeared in the linoleum.  “What is this?” Julia wailed.

The mini quake cut off as the door opened with a merry jangling of bells.

“Heya Doc,” Carloss greeted brightly.  “Do you take walk-ins?”

“You!” Julia hissed.

The…whatever the hell the man was now looked at her intently for a second with glowing _emerald_ eyes and she dropped like a marionette with its strings cut.  Stiles had been developing his supernatural senses but he imagined even a regular human would have felt it when the man dropped down and performed that grounding gesture he was so fond of.  A pulse of gentle energy rippled out, leaving absolutely _nothing_ in its place.  The clinic was Deaton’s place of power and Carloss had _erased_ it utterly.  “You’re looking a bit worse for wear kid.”

Stiles tried for pithy but couldn’t quite find his tongue.  At least until the man laid a hand on his chest and sent of jolt of wonderful, vibrant, surprisingly painful life through him.  “Motherfucking son a of bitch that _hurt_!”

“Life is pain?”

He narrowed his eyes as threateningly as he could manage.

Carloss gave him a glowing smile.  “Better.  As for you Doc, I think you might want to consider relocating your practice.”

Deaton’s face was ashen.  “Stiles...what have you done?”

He put on his most insulting smirk.  “You said it was Faerie magic, too much for a man to handle.  I figured an Alpha werebear with fairy blood was as good a place to put it as any.” 

“Thanks, by the way.”

“No problem.”

“And what do plan to do now, Carloss?” Morell asked haughtily.  “Will you finish what you started?  Wipe out the remaining packs?  The emissaries?  The Hunters?  How many more will have to die to satisfy your lust for blood and power?”

“Lady, the only thing I’m lusting for is a slice of my favorite gluten free vegan pizza.”

Stiles’ face twisted up in horror.  “That’s just plain wrong.  Deaton, I take it back.  He’s clearly evil.  Sic em!”

The vet looked like he was having an aneurysm.  “Stiles this isn’t funny!”

Carloss groaned in exasperation.  “Let’s move this along, shall we.  When you wake up you can stay or go, I don’t really care.  Until yesterday I’d never so much as slapped another person outside of a sparring mat; you don’t have to fear any violence from me. That said, if you are intent on toying with people’s lives you may find this an inhospitable place to live.”  The man made an imperious gesture and the two emissaries still standing melted to the floor asleep.

Stiles suddenly felt overwhelmed with surreality of the last twelve hours.  “So…now what?”

“Your pack is out cold in the other room.  They’ll wake up in a little while.  That was pretty clever sending Chris to carry your power to me through the earth.”

“Chris?” he asked bewildered.

“You know, _Scrubs_?  Turquoise bear.  Turq. Turk.  Christopher Turk.  Chocolate bear. Turquoise bear.  Even synthetic spirits require names to be directed.”

Stiles figured he had finally met his match in geeky TV references.  “I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess you’re not giving all that power back.”

Carloss gave him an arch look.  “Do you really _want_ it?”

That brought him up short.  He’d been intent on keeping it, ostensibly to keep himself and his loved ones safe.  It hadn’t exactly worked out that way.  “What will you do with it?” he hedged.

“Take it off the board; there are enough pieces in play as it is and I don’t care to be one of them.”

“So you want to just cut and run?  After…everything?” 

“Don’t look so butthurt,” the man said with an eyeroll.  “I’m not going anywhere, precisely, I’m just going step back for a while.”

He was so sick of cryptic.  “And that mans what exactly?”

“What do bears do when things get dark?”

“You’re going to _hibernate_?” he asked incredulously.

“I’m going to move the Nemeton to a safe place where I can adjust to my new…me.”

“Move the…” he sputtered, “You know what?   Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Take the Tree of Doom.  It’ll be a relief, actually.  Although I’m not sure how I’m going get by now that I’m just the token human,” he said morosely.

Carloss threw back his head and shook dust from the ceiling with his booming guffaws.

“And now you’re laughing at me, great.”

“Sorry,” the man wheezed, “It’s just too funny.  Stiles you are the most dangerous person I know and it has nothing to do with stolen Faerie magic.”

“Come again?

“You’ll figure it out.  In the mean time, you gave me a gift and a burden.  I would like to answer in kind.”

Alarm bells started going off.  “You’re talking all formal.  Bad things happen when supernaturals make with the flowery language.”

The bear extended his claws and shrugged apologetically.

“Of course, more claws in the neck.”

“I promise it won’t hurt a bit.  This town needs someone to protect it, someone who doesn’t give a damn about politics or personal gain.  I can give you what you need to be that person.”

It wasn’t a tempting offer.  It was hella crazy.  It was also the only choice he could make that would let him sleep at night.  “Do it.”

“One thing first.  While I sleep you may see…reflections of me as I explore my connection with the land.  You _cannot_ wake me before time, the summer solstice at the latest.  Sticks and sleeping bears and all that.”

“What if something happens?”

“If you need to get a message to me make an offering to the earth and it will carry it to me.  If you absolutely have to reach me in person the five of you together will be able to open the way.”

Apparently the Twins didn’t count or something.  “And you’re not going to explain that at all.”

“I would never forgive myself for making your life boring,” Carloss replied wryly.  “Remember: the Equinox.”

The bear’s eyes glowed as he struck, not with his clawed hand but with the other, pulling Stiles in and planting a searing kiss on him.  And it was _searing_ , like drinking hot lava.  As promised he barely felt it when the claws sank in.  He couldn’t have said how long it lasted but when he opened his eyes Carloss was gone and there was no trace of the punctures on the back of his neck.

“Well that was a hell of thing,” he told the unconscious emissaries.

The Twins burst through the clinic doors.

“What’s going on?  Where’s Carloss?” Ethan demanded, eyes glowing.

“That’s kind of long story,” he replied gesturing to the remains of the spell and the slumbering people.  “We need to wake the others first?”

 

The rest of the pack was laid out on pallets in the back room, save for Scott who was snoring peacefully on top of the exam table.

“They’re so cute when they’re sleeping,” he observed.

“Here, try this,” Aidan said scooping something off a cabinet.

Stiles accepted the thin metal cylinder with glee.  “A dog whistle?  That’s too perfect.  You might want to cover your eats.”

He blew three sharp blasts, waking the wolves in a flurry of snarling and slashing.  Scott flailed his way right off the table and landed on the girls.

“Stiles!  What the hell is wrong with you!?” Derek yelled, doing a double take when the initial shock wore off.  “Stiles!”  The Alpha had him in a bone-crushing hug before he could blink.

“We have to stop meeting like this.  I’m okay big guy,” he wheezed.  “Careful, not invincible anymore.”

Derek relaxed fractionally.  “What happened?”

“A little help down here?” Cora growled, hopelessly tangled with Scott, Laura, and a pile of shredded blankets.

“Stiles!  You’re okay!” came Scott’s voice, muffled by the fabric that was wrapped around his face mummy-like.

“I’m fine, buddy.”

“Back to the explaining please,” Ethan prompted tersely.

“I’ll keep it short for now.  We’ve got places to be.”

 

 

He gave them a quick rundown while they unwound the Betas.  Cora and Laura had a hard time wrapping their heads around everything since they’d missed the fight with Bear Kong.

“So Carloss got turned into a bear, went on a killing spree, and then you handed over ultimate power sending him off to vacation in super-consciousness?” Laura asked, voice tight with disbelief.

“That’s the gist of it.”

“Well as long we’re clear.”

“And you,” he said rounding on Derek.  “If you and Carloss had told me about your secret research we might have been able to sort this out a hell of a lot sooner.  I was looking for that damn book for weeks and you had it the whole time!”

“I didn’t want you to worry?” the Alpha said sheepishly.

“Why a bear?” Scott wondered aloud.  “Why didn’t the Bite turn him into a wolf?”

“It happens that way some time,” he replied.

“Sometimes the shape you take reflects the kind of person that you are,” Derek added.

“That’s beautiful little brother,” Laura drawled.  “Powerful internal conflicts or extremely independent personality types occasionally override the nascent connection to the Alpha that administers the Bite,” she clarified.

“I need to hang out with some lower I.Q.’s,” Scott grumbled.

“Don’t feel bad,” Cora said soothingly, “They’re just _pretending_ to know what the hell they’re talking about.”

“Can’t really argue with that,” he muttered.  “Okay!” he barked, clapping his hands together sharply.  “Who wants to draw on a Druid’s face with a sharpie before we head out?”

 

 

Wolf!Con must have ground to a screeching halt after the nights events because they passed a mass exodus of cars on the road to the Hale house.  With five people crammed into the Jeep there wasn’t really enough room to edge away from the procession of angry glares but they gave it their best try.  It wasn’t hard to guess what the last straw had been for the werewolves; even Stiles’ human nose could smell it: a fetid stench of decay that the chill air did nothing to mitigate.  The closer they got to the House the worse it got.  Everywhere they looked they saw death, even the evergreens were browning, raining needles by the millions right before their eyes.  Worse, hostility radiated from the earth itself, like it was devouring everything that stood on its surface it a furious effort to swallow the insouciant werewolves that dared set foot on it.   Stiles could tell it wasn’t directed at him and his pack but simply being on the edge of it made his hair stand on end.

“Methinks Carloss doth protested too much when he said he wasn’t into holding grudges.”

“I saw inside his head while he was in mine,” Derek growled.   Was it his imagination or did the man sound defensive of the werebear-faerie-nature-god-thing?  “He has issues with betrayal.  After what my Mother and Deaton tried…”

Stiles understood _that_ well enough, but if this was what Carloss had meant by “reflections” then they were in for an interesting five months.  “How are we going to handle this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mom’s proud,” Cora hedged.  “She won’t just walk away from her territory willingly but…”

“How could _anyone_ live here now?” Scott finished.

 

The clearing around the House was only place that still had life in it.  Centuries of habitation and innumerable blessings from attendant emissaries must have left a mark because the winter flowers still grew in a rainbow of cheery colors, probably only because plants didn’t have a sense of smell.  The Hales certainly did.  At least Stiles hoped that the revulsion twisting their faces as they stood arrayed in front the house was for the _stench_ and not for _him_.  When they pulled to a stop the remaining visiting wolves suddenly found elsewheres to be, vanishing as quickly as any witch with a cloaking spell.

Derek’s face was even but Stiles could feel him and the guy was a mess of conflicting emotions.  He hated the part he’d played in driving a wedge between him and his family.  “Go talk with them.  I have something I have to do and this is a Hale thing.  Scott?”

“I’ve got his back.”

The Alpha gave him a questioning look, sighed and said.  “I don’t want you going off alone.”

“The Twins’ll keep me company.  No heroics or magical mayhem, promise.”

Derek nodded stiffly but didn’t argue.

He got out of the Jeep and walked over to Aidan and Ethan waiting uncomfortably by their bikes.  “Feel like a run?”

 

 

The talisman Carloss had given him lent him speed and endurance but did nothing whatsoever to lessen the burn in his legs or the harsh scraping of the winter air in his lungs.  It was _fantastic_.  He felt really, truly, human for the first time in a month.  His doubts about giving up all that power slipped away as he ran and reveled in the sensations coming from his wonderfully mortal body.  It took a lot longer to reach the Nemeton but he didn’t mind one bit.

“So, what’s this about?” Aidan asked looking around the empty clearing.

Ethan sniffed the air.  “I smell him.  Is this…that place?”

“Yeah.”  He walked over to a beaten up backpack hanging from a low branch, Carloss’ cane dangling from the straps.  “This is what we need,” he said taking it down and slinging it around his shoulders.  He untied the cane and ran his hands over the polished surface of the rowan wood.  It was warm to the touch, like it was _his_.  He started to turn and felt a faint pressure.  “What the..?”

“What is it?  I seem to recall you promising Derek no magical mayhem,” Aidan said drily.

“I’m not sure.”  He waved the cane slowly back and forth.  Every time it tingled a little as it passed through a certain point.  “Huh, it’s like a divining rod.  I think we should go this way.”

“Bad.  Idea.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Derek.  Just trust me.”

“You’re the second.  Glad you finally figured that out by the way.”

“Just follow me,” he snapped.  It was one thing holding that rank in the pack when he could crush anyone who challenged him.  He seriously doubted the Twins would try and press a claim but it was a little uncomfortable being the titular superior to _two_ Alphas.

 

The source of the strange pull was only a few yards off but he got the distinct impression that he never would have found it without help.

“What the hell?” Ethan whispered, looking at the…well, cabin was the closest word.  The building was more like a large hut assembled from logs, stones, and sealed with clay.  It had been built into the side of a steep rise so that from any direction but straight on the fallen leaves that covered the roof made it all but invisible.  Once he got within ten feet or so he let out a deep sigh like he was sliding into a hot tub at the end of a long day.

“This must be where Carloss lived when he first moved to town.”  He walked forward cautiously and pulled open the door, heart leaping when he saw what was inside.

“Uh, Stiles?” Aidan asked nervously.

He turned around and saw the Twins stuck behind an invisible line.  “Oh, right.  Aidan, Ethan, please come in,” he invited, suppressing a laugh when they stumbled forward as the restraining force vanished.  He took a deep breath and went in.  Inside the air smelled of dry herbs and rich earth.  A bed lay in one corner covered in a mishmash of blankets with a rolled up sleeping bag for a pillow.  A trunk sat at the foot and a table and stool made of sticks lashed with heavy twine comprised the rest of the furniture.  “It’s very…um…rustic.”

Aidan looked around curiously, eyes flashing in the dim light, but his brother looked sad.  “He never said…”

Stiles felt like a cad.  Being here was weird enough for him but Ethan and Carloss had been…something, or maybe on the way to being something and the Alpha was obviously distressed.  “Hey, he’s not gone.  We’ll see him again.”

“He just _left_.  When we got him home last night…it was _hours_ before he could even _speak_.  He put on a good show for Talia but I’ve never seen anyone look so broken.”

“We killed a lot of people when we took out our pack,” Aidan continued.  “At the time we told ourselves it was the only way but the truth is we enjoyed paying those bastards back for what they did to us.”

“But what happened to him was different.”

“I’m not so sure it was,” he said quietly.  “He was so angry.  I was only feeling it secondhand but I could barely think.  He was strong; the Bite never would have taken unless he chose it.”

“So what, he should have died instead?  That’s not fair!” Ethan snarled, anger fading into bitter laughter at his own words.  “But what about any of this has ever been fair?”

“You’re asking the wrong person,” he agreed.  “Let’s see what’s in the trunk.  Wow, jackpot.”  It was packed full of magical odds and ends.  He carefully started pulling things out and laying them on the bed.  “Books, herbs, and hello, his weapons!”

“Weapons?” Aidan asked dubiously.  “That’s a cup, with paint on it.”

“It’s a metaphor,” he replied with sage look.

“Sure.”

“What are you going to do with them?” Ethan wondered.

“Use them.  I think these are mine now.  This isn’t gonna sound right but when he did the claws in the neck thing he kissed me and I think he gave me his soul.”

“He _kissed_ you?”

“Way to focus on the important bit, E,” Aidan drawled.  “So you’re sucking people’s souls now?”

“It’s not like it sounds,” he huffed.  “There’s no word for it in English.  It’s that divine spark or whatever that let’s humans do this kind of magic.  It’s also why the faerie magic was killing me, but it won’t be a problem for him now.  Hoo boy,” he exclaimed, pulling out a group of leather bound books.  Three of them were filled writing, drawings of seals, and tables filled with the odd symbols that Carloss used in his magic.  “I think this is the grimoire he wrote.  And this,” he said holding up a much thicker volume, “Is his journal.”

“Isn’t that kind of personal?” Ethan asked sourly.  “What is that written in anyway, Norse?”

“It’s Latin written in proto-Italic runes,” he answered automatically.

“You can read that?” Aidan asked.

“Huh, no.  But when I look at this I understand what it says.  Weird.”  He picked up the grimoire and flipped through it quickly.  “I can only make out a couple of these.”  It looked like he had a new hobby.  “Let’s pack this stuff up.”

They found a duffle bag under the bed and carefully piled in the books and heavier objects, leaving the fragile glass jars of herbs and liquids for the backpack.  As they walked away from the cabin the sense of warmth began to fade, the gentle power that had sheltered the magician’s retreat melting away until there was nothing left but the normal background sensations of the forest. 

Ethan stopped and looked back.  “We just talked, all night, and I thought…”

Stiles knew he was probably going to regret it but he couldn’t stand the look on his packmate’s face.  It was a pack thing.  “He told me if you need to speak to him you can make an offering to the earth and he’ll hear.”

“An offering.”

“Yeah.  Blood, I think.  Mother Nature’s kind of old school.”  The hopeful look on the Alpha’s face made him a little uneasy.  “Listen, even after he comes back…after everything that happened to him, after what he’s become, he might not be the same.”

“I don’t know,” Aidan mused.  “When we fought him in the woods he should have crushed us like insects.  Even when he was totally out of control he recognized us and _wanted_ us to stop him.”

Maybe they had a point.  In the mean time he had his own control issue to sort out and was desperate to delve into the grimoire. 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

The mood in the pack house was subdued.  Stiles’ first thought was a rousing movie marathon, but after looking through his collection he hit a bit of a snag.  Once he eliminated everything that featured revenge, family drama, supernatural politics, and people getting monsterfied there was practically nothing left.  In the end they wound up sitting around the living room in morose silence while _Bones_ ran on Netflix.  Cora had Scott and Aidan pulled so tight to her sides on the couch they were in danger of fusing into a single organism.  Laura and Ethan sat together on the love seat, but despite the reassuring physical contact they were obviously both off in different universes mentally.  And Derek…the Alpha sat in the recliner gripping the armrests like he was about to blast into to orbit.  Stiles was afraid to carry anything metal too close lest he be struck by an errant bolt from the thundercloud brewing over the man’s head.

He sat on the floor in front of the coffee table pouring over the grimoire, doing his best to translate the parts that weren’t readily understandable.  It was slow going.  By the time they all drifted off to their own rooms he’d barely managed much more than deciphering the titles.  He had something more important to do just then.

 

Derek was sitting on the edge of the bed.  _Stiles’_ bed.  “They’re all leaving.  My family has lived on this territory for over two hundred years, we founded Beacon Hills, and now they’re being driven out because of me.”

“If there’s one person in all of this who isn’t to blame it’s you,” he said plopping down next to him and rubbing a hand between his shoulder blades.

“I’m the Alpha now; it’s all on me,” the werewolf grumbled, but leaned back into the touch gratefully.

“Talia wanted power.  I wanted power.  Carloss wanted power.  You were only trying to look after your pack.”

“And if I hadn’t been dumb enough to try and take on a Faerie queen and her handmaidens alone you never would have been involved in the first place.”

The talisman may not have given him the strength he was used to but it was more than enough to send Derek sprawling on the floor when he gave him a stiff shove.  “Listen up you self-flagellating failwolf.  If it weren’t for you I would be alone, in Foster Care, or sending Melissa into a debt spiral.  You gave a family again you stupid ass and if you ever so much as _think_ about apologizing for that I swear to God I will fucking _neuter_ you.”

The Alpha’s slack-jawed expression of shock melted into a lopsided smile.  “Okay.”

He nodded sharply and sniffled a little.  Stupid tear ducts.  “It’s late.  Get on the bed.”

“Second my ass,” the man muttered.  The bed wasn’t exactly spacious but with a little wiggling Stiles managed to situate himself with the larger man partway on top of him, head resting on his shoulder.  “This is weird,” Derek complained.

“My bed my rules big guy.  Now shut up and let me comfort you.”

They were silent for a long time, bit by bit moving into a more comfortable position until they were half hugging.

“It’s not just my family, you know,” Derek said softly.  “You keep almost dying.  And now that you don’t have your power anymore…”

Stiles carded his fingers through the man’s hair and scooted closer.  “I’m not going anywhere, promise.  I can’t make those super talismans Carloss made without the power boost but I still have his old ones.  Besides, magic combines exponentially.  Broken oaths or not, sacrificing his strength and giving it to me like that was a big deal.  I’ll be a mystical badass again; I just have to learn how first.”

“That’s frightening on multiple levels.”

“Hey!”

Derek made a chuffing sound and squirmed a bit.  “I’m just worried we won’t have _time_.  Deucalion’s territory is already being pressured.  Omegas are coming out of the woodwork.  Chris is trying to keep the Hunters in line but they’ve pretty much split in half.  One side thinks his peace initiative was genius.  Stand back and let us kill ourselves.  The other half wants a crusade saying what’s happened is proof that we’re too dangerous to be allowed to live.  It’s been twenty four hours and already group of them attacked and killed a couple of wolves from back in their dorm at UC Davis.  The Argents are going to make an example of them.”

“Asshole bigots.  I found something in Carloss’ grimoire that might help with them if it comes to that,” he said darkly.

“His spellbook?”

“Not the same thing.  He wrote it in three volumes that have to be read together and even then the language is infuriatingly poetical.”

“He was afraid of someone reading it?” Derek guessed.

“Before he left he said I was the most dangerous person he knew.  I think that was a warning about this book.  If someone actually pulled off every ritual in there…” he trailed off with a shudder.  Threatening the Hunters with _that_ particular ritual was just that: a threat, and an empty one.  “Technically it’s all White Magic but a lot of this stuff is really dark, just not, you know, _Dark_.”

“Thanks for clearing that up.  I don’t want you messing with the Dark stuff.  Black Witchcraft is bad enough but Black High Magick…those stories don’t even make it into legend.”

“Probably because there’s nobody left alive to tell them.”  He meant it as a joke but Derek’s chest rumbled in agreement.  Sheesh.  “There were other books in his cabin, the one’s he learned from.  I’m planning on taking oaths as soon as I can.”

Naturally the werewolf tensed when he said that.  Apparently the guy could smell omission.  “Why do you have to wait?”

He considered trying to evade the question given Derek’s current frame of mind but…  “I’ve been hearing her, _it_ , again.  The ritual I need to exorcise her crazy demonic ass is one of the few I can actually make out.”

“If you need _anything_ from me…” the Alpha said twisting his head around to look him dead in the eye.

He felt like blushing from the fervor he saw, doubly so when he realized it was mutual.  He gulped.  “It’s not that.  Separating out the darkness inside me isn’t as simple as waving around a crucifix and spitting out some pea soup.  It’s a part of me, Derek, and I have less than two months to get ready.”

“Why two months?”

“The Spring Equinox, it’s the most powerful time to do the ritual, especially since I won’t have as much skill as I should.”

“So we’ll train.  All of us.  Now that there are only three packs with Alphas we’ll need to be ready.”

“Actually there’s something that might help with that.  Get up for a second.” 

He slithered out from under Derek and took a book out the drawer of his nightstand.  He’d stuck it in there first thing when he’d gotten back.  The small volume had the kind of generic green binding you’d find in libraries.

“I know this,” the Alpha said amazed.  “It…it was important to him.”

“Yeah, look.”  He opened the front cover and pointed at the old fashioned lending card glued to it.  Carloss’ name was written in the lowest slot, the first name blacked out.  “It’s a book about werewolves from an elementary school library.  I think it’s what first got him interested in all this.  And look…” he flipped to a diagram in the middle section.  “This describes a High Magick ritual to actually _create_ werewolves.  Check at the lettering in the circle.”

“Ancient Greek.  Do you think..?”

“Maybe.  Some of the ancient Hebrews could have made their way to Greece.  This ritual could be the basis for the myth of Lycaon.  This is just a partial account, though.  There’s got to be _something_ in the grimoire.”  It was going to drive him nuts, but he suspected Carloss had purposely made it so the true meaning of his works would only become available over time.

“What the hell was this doing in an _elementary school_?” Derek wondered aloud.

“Beats me.”  He flipped back to the front cover and ran a finger over the blacked out name.  “You know I never even asked what his first name was?”

“Is.  It _is_ Gerhardt.  Gerhardt Arthfael Carloss.  It took me a while to piece together but I think we had a sort of conversation while we were connected and I got that much.”

“Holy crap, no wonder why he went by his last name only.  I can think of twenty of nicknames off the top of my head.  The school kids must have gotten a lot of mileage out of “Get Hard”, but what the hell is “Arthfael”?”

Derek actually snickered a little.  “It’s Welsh.  It means “The Great Bear”.”

“Well how about that.”

 

They talked a while longer but he was one hundred percent human again and actually had to sleep.  Derek was still there when he woke up the next day, arm and leg slung over him and head resting on his chest just over his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> I've edited out my original notes sections because I was I jackass and included a number of unnecessarily opinionated and inflammatory drivels instead of just letting my works try and speak for themselves. To those of you who were incensed or offended I apologize. The same to those who agreed with, for turning a minority opinion into a dissenting one.
> 
> And for those who see this being updated and wonder where the hell my WIP's went, I pulled them because after I crawled out from under the holiday season from hell, I decided to go back and really fix the problems I had with them that left them hanging out there in the first place while I struggled to make what I'd already written of them work the way I wanted them to. "Blue Label", "Devil" and "Those Two Little Words" will return, albeit in (somewhat-very) different forms. I will try to preserve the things that brought on such wonderful comments. The two works that were series and reduced to one-offs will likely stay that way.
> 
> Again I apologize. I know how disappointing it can be to follow something only to have the author flake just before the big resolution, but I will return.


End file.
